Sailors, Shipwrecks and Saboteurs
by Firefall Bangenthump
Summary: Uses original characters from Yet Another Change of Scene.  A young Rhys and Sofia meet for the first time while investigating a shipwreck with the Royal Navy, but become caught up in the Toad's first attempt to bring about the Glorious Amphibian Dawn.
1. Just Not Cricket

_Flushed Away_, as you know, is the intellectual property of DreamWorks and Aardman Productions. What follows is partly related to that. Rhys Seddon-Tavish and Sofia de Lesseps are my own original characters, first encountered in _Yet Another Change of Scene_. A rather splendid set of pictures drawn by the inestimable JackAndSally4Ever inspired me to write a bit more about them. The events in the story take place several years before _Flushed Away_ and so it has little relevance to the film we know and love. I apologise in advance for the inescapable self-reference and hope it can be forgiven!

* * *

It was, as tradition demanded, a dark and stormy night. The waters of the English Channel seemed in a hurry to hurl themselves against the cliffs, as if trying to get out of the way of the wind which swept down from the North Sea like a cloud of razorblades. It wasn't a night for anyone to be out in. 

Yet something was. A constellation of lights was being buffeted towards shore. The waves out there were breaking across a sheer steel hull against which the wind banged like a drum. Through the squalls, a name could be read on the stern of the ship- the _Fortune of Bordeaux_. The great freighter was not having much of it the moment. It was driven ever closer towards the shore, where a rocky beach provided the only barrier between sea and white cliff. Fighting it to the last, the ship struck. There was an awful tearing of steel and a muffled explosion. The lights winked out, one by one, but the storm went on. Nobody saw the very small boat, with its even smaller crew, which had been shadowing the freighter's passage as it left the scene.

* * *

There was a banging on the door. Lieutenant Rhys Seddon-Tavish of Her Majesty's Royal Navy woke up with a start and glanced at the clock on his wall. 

"Rhys! You in there?"

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What is it, Roscoe?"

The door opened a crack and a broad grin poked around it. "Bodgie's compliments, Rhys. You're wanted on deck right away."

"What? Why? I just came off watch an hour and a half ago!"

"It's not to do with that," said Roscoe. Rhys heaved a sigh and stood up, stretching as he did.

"Oh, all right. My respects to the Captain and I'll be there soon."

"I don't think 'soon' is a timeframe Bodgie operates in, old chap," said Roscoe. Rhys laughed despite himself and pulled on his uniform monkey jacket.

"That's the truth," said Rhys. "Still, like our old instructor said. Welcome to the Andrew. Can't argue with the old man."

"Welcome to the Andrew indeed," said Roscoe. "Come on, then."

"You don't have to wait for me, you know."

"'Course I do. Us Lieutenants have to stick together, you know."

Roscoe held the door open for Rhys with an exaggerated bow that earned him a clip across the back of the head. The two rats proceeded down the narrow metal corridor. They were young and about as dashing as one could have expected under the circumstances. Roscoe's peculiarly blonde hair contrasted with his companion's, which was dark enough to match the uniforms they wore. Two gold bands glittered on their sleeves, topped by a golden curl.

"What can his problem possibly be?" muttered Rhys, tucking his shirt as he walked. "Everything was in order. Besides, we're in Portsmouth Harbour. Nothing can possibly have happened. I know there was a bit of a blow last night, but it didn't cause us any trouble."

"Oh, it's always possible that some clown started World War Three in your absence," said Roscoe.

Rhys rolled his eyes. "Surely not, Roscoe. You're right here with me."

A rating stood to one side and saluted as the two officers passed him. They paused at the bottom of a ladder.

"You first," said Roscoe. "The master wanted to see you, after all."

"And he sent you to get me," said Rhys. "Wouldn't you like to report your successful mission, hmm?"

"From safe distance, yes."

Rhys chuckled and climbed up the ladder and out onto deck. A shadow fell across him before he could get out of the hatch, blocking out the morning sun.

"About time you got here!"

Rhys looked up. The bulky form of Captain 'Bodgie' Brogue was standing almost on top of the hatch and looking down at him. Rhys grinned and saluted as best as he could while hanging on to the ladder.

"Lieutenant Seddon-Tavish reporting as ordered, sir!"

"So I see," said Brogue. "I also see you're not quite in uniform."

"Sir?" Rhys looked down and kicked himself. He'd forgotten to put on his tie. He had a sudden mental image of the article looped around the coathook above his bed. Too late now.

"Sorry, sir. In a bit of hurry to see you. Won't happen again."

Brogue stood back and allowed Rhys to get out on deck.

"I'm prepared to overlook the violation, Lieutenant. On one condition."

"Sir?" Rhys stood to attention and noticed that Roscoe was sniggering almost at the edge of hearing. Brogue pulled out a shiny red ball and tossed it to his bemused subordinate.

"Bowl us a few good _Larkwind_ googlies and the matter's forgotten."

Rhys stared around. The forward deck of HMS _Larkwind_ had been cleared. A cricket pitch had been roughly chalked out. The crew was standing around watching him expectantly. Next to the ship was another British vessel, moored alongside them in Portsmouth Harbour. Rhys glanced at a scoreboard being displayed from the bridge.

_Larkwind_- All Out (154)

_Corposant- _7/112

He grinned. "Aye aye, sir! It'd be a pleasure. Hello, chaps." He waved to the opposing crew, most of whom he knew.

"Now are you glad I came to get you, S-T?" said Roscoe, coming up behind him. "I told them about your academy exploits. You remember that time you broke old 'Daddy' Cheddar's nose when he was wicket keeping for you? First time that'd ever happened off a spinner!"

"Indubitably, old sock. I didn't win the Egerton for my good looks and charm, you know." Rhys flicked the ball in his hand. "Excuse me, sir, permission to select my own keeper?"

Brogue nodded. "Permission granted."

Rhys nodded his thanks and turned to Roscoe.

"Mr Chadwick. Would you be so kind as to play stumps?"

"What?" Roscoe's eyes widened and he looked at the pitch. The wickets had been improvised using a pair of .303 calibre bullets.

"I'm sure they've been tested," said Rhys. "Isn't that right, sir?"

Brogue nodded. "At least one of them."

"Excellent. Now, Mr Chadwick? In your own time." Rhys leaned closer and winked. "Now are you glad you came to get me, Roscoe?"

* * *

Rhys stroked the surface of the cricket ball lovingly and glanced down the pitch. The _Corposant_ team had struggled their way to 9/148. Not one of his best efforts, but two wickets was better than nothing even if one of them was a run-out achieved by bouncing the ball off Roscoe's head. He now sported a tin hat borrowed from a nearby Royal Marine and a chastened expression. The day was clearing up brightly after the night's storm and the players had shed their uniform coats. Starched white shirts shone so brightly that the onlookers had to shade their eyes. 

Lieutenant-Commander Aldo Thiele looked away from the game as the bridge radio crackled into life. He walked over to it, a degree of resignation already showing on his thin face. The device had been painted battlefleet grey in an attempt to disguise its origins, but the words 'Barbieworld Walkie-Talkie' had been heavily embossed into the cheap plastic and lurid pink showed through where the grey had rubbed off. It squawked again.

"_Portsmouth Fleet control to _Larkwind_, come in, please."_

Aldo pressed the button on the side of the device.

"_Larkwind_ officer of the watch here. Go ahead, Fleet."

"_New orders coming," _said the controller. _"Make ready for immediate departure on matter of urgency."_

"Understood, Fleet. _Larkwind_ standing by."

Aldo turned away from the radio and nodded to a nearby rating.

"So much for shore leave, I'm afraid. Pipe me a tune on the tannoy, will you?"

The rating saluted and yanked a rope. The ship's horn blared noisily and brought an abrupt end to the cricket match.

Rhys looked up at the noise, which had interrupted him halfway through his run-in.

"Oh, bad show!" he said. "What's Aldo playing at?"

Aldo appeared at the bridge rail.

"Sorry to interrupt the festivities, gentlemen, but duty calls us! Captain Brogue, you're needed on the bridge. The rest of you, departure stations! At the double!"

"Oh, come on, sir!" Roscoe called from behind the wicket. "One more ball!"

Aldo relented. "One! And I'll be counting it!"

Rhys grinned and restarted his run up. The ball left his hand and arced gracefully towards the batsman, who hit it hard. It flashed past Rhys' face and hit the bullet which marked the bowler's wicket, bouncing off and going over the side before a fielder could stop it. The bullet tipped over slowly, but with a certain sense of inevitability, and went off. The .303 round sparked off the deck, ricocheted skywards and punched a neat hole in the scoreboard, causing Aldo to duck for cover. There was a pregnant pause before all eyes turned to the cricket umpire, a hapless-looking naval chaplain dragooned from a neutral ship, who considered his answer for some time.

"Er," he said nervously. "Six-and-Out?"

There was an immediate outcry.

"Out?" shouted the batsman.

"Six?" cried Rhys. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm perfectly serious, my son. Six-and-out."

Aldo changed the score over. Game tied, both sides All Out (154). Rhys pulled his jacket back on, muttering darkly. Roscoe joined him.

"Blimey, Rhys, I thought those things were duds!"

"The wickets or the opposition?"

"Either or both. Rotten luck, old bean, don't let it get to you."

Rhys laughed. "It jolly well wasn't cricket, was it? Still, we didn't lose. 'Lucky Larky' will keep her reputation for now. You might want to take that tinny off now, Roscoe, it doesn't suit."

Roscoe removed the helmet and handed it back to the Marine.

"Come on, you two!" Aldo shouted down to them. "Stop flirting and get working! Departure stations!"

"Aye, sir!"

Rhys and Roscoe saluted sharply and moved up the bridge. The foredeck was already cleared, a rating with a mop and bucket cleaning off the pitch. The _Corposant_ crew had taken the last of the .303 'wickets' with them, and the wicket keeper's place had been filled as _Larkwind_''s crew raised what passed for the ship's main gun- an ancient Webley revolver- back into position from where it had been stowed for the game.

"Mr Seddon-Tavish? Glad to see you, but what passes on the pitch won't pass on the bridge! You are improperly dressed!" Brogue glanced at Rhys as he climbed onto the bridge. He dropped down again and hastened back to his quarters for his tie. Departure from port was a serious business for a warship and Brogue was something of a stickler for tradition, insofar as it applied to everyone else. Rhys grabbed his tie and put it on, checking it briefly in a mirror before grabbing his cap and returning to the bridge, where Aldo and Brogue were in deep conversation with the radio.

"What's going on, Roscoe?"

Roscoe shrugged. "You've got me, S-T. Must be urgent, whatever it is."

"Ours is not to reason why, eh?" Rhys grinned.

"Oh, it never is. Welcome to the Andrew." Roscoe grinned back.

"Welcome to the Andrew indeed," said Rhys. He picked up a clipboard of pre-departure checks and began running through them. Overhead, a bright string of flags was lifted over the signal mast. Rhys watched the crew secure it into place and then turned smartly to Brogue.

"Ship ready for departure, sir!"

"Do we have permission to proceed from the Admiral, Mr Thiele?"

Aldo nodded. "Permission to proceed requested and given, sir."

"Thank you, Mr Seddon-Tavish." Brogue nodded with satisfaction. "Mr Chadwick? You may take her out."

"Aye, sir." Roscoe stepped forward. As navigating lieutenant, this was usually his duty. "Helm! Port thrusters two-thirds. Rudder to starboard."

Rhys watched with appreciation as the _Larkwind_ pulled away from the pier. Their cricketing rivals on the _Corposant_ waved them off. Roscoe guided them out into the harbour and pointed the bows towards the open sea.

"Rudder amidships. Engines ahead one-quarter." He turned to Brogue and saluted. "Departure complete, sir."

"Excellent, Mr Chadwick. Thank you." Brogue took Roscoe's place and surveyed his bridge with satisfaction. _Larkwind_ was an old ship but still a swift one and she cut through the water with ease.

"Any chance of letting us know why we're out here, sir?" asked Roscoe.

"To save you any more embarrassment behind the wickets, Mr Chadwick," said Aldo.

"And for some serious work," said Brogue. "Pass me the tannoy."

Aldo handed him a small microphone. Brogue tapped it once or twice, making a sound like cannon fire, and spoke into it.

"Attention all hands. This is the Captain speaking."

A hush fell over the ship. Brogue went on.

"During last night's storms, it seems the humans had a spot of bother. A French freighter called _Fortune of Bordeaux_ went hard aground on the English coast after reporting engine failure. It shed most of its cargo in the wind, which is now distributed along the southeastern coast. That cargo remains the property of its rightful owners, but I don't need to tell you that not everybody will see it that way."

"Scavengers," whispered Roscoe to Rhys. Brogue raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"At this time, it is considered vital for Anglo-French relations that this incident be well controlled. Therefore we have been ordered to patrol the wreck site and make sure that the opportunists go home disappointed. We proceed at best speed. Captain out."

He passed the microphone back to Aldo. "Helm, increase speed. All ahead full, course zero-eight-seven degrees."

"A French ship, sir?" said Rhys.

"I appreciate the irony of the British Navy steaming to the rescue of a French ship, lieutenant," said Brogue. "But orders are orders. We need them on our side."

"We've been all right so far, sir."

Brogue chuckled. "I wouldn't voice that opinion within earshot of the Admiralty, lieutenant. I'll be in my quarters. Mr Thiele? You have the bridge."

* * *

Rhys was supervising the gun crew's daily drill. The Webley had been an effective and efficient killing device when it was first made, but it had also seen two world wars and a number of smaller ones and was reluctant to give of its best without what seemed like a pint of oil being used on its parts. Rhys sighed. 

"All right, chaps. Stow it away and we'll try it again."

"What's the problem, sir?" said Midshipman Mayweather, a young rat and Rhys' second in command.

"The problem, my dear Mayweather, is that this gun has to work when we need it to. And it needs to work quickly." Rhys took off his cap and scratched his head. The crew lowered the revolver into its recess and folded away the gun canopy. Rhys watched and then nodded.

"Good. Action stations!"

The gun was hauled upright and locked into its turntable mount as the canopy was erected around it. Shells were rammed into the cylinder, which was spun and then pushed back into place. There was a dull sound of metal on metal and the cylinder refused to lock. Rhys glared at it.

"There's some sort of obstruction," he said. "Look at the fifth chamber. Get a file and we'll try to knock it off."

"Having a bit of strife, S-T?" said Roscoe, who had sauntered up the deck and was watching his friend's trouble with undisguised enjoyment.

"Shouldn't you be doing something with a hambone?" said Rhys. "Now either grab a file or bugger off."

"Our course is set, we have a fresh wind in our sails and the sky is clear," said Roscoe. "What's a navigator to do in such circumstances but come down here and laugh at a gunner?"

Rhys shook his head, trying not to laugh. "How about the navigator makes himself scarce? I was thinking of asking Bodgie for permission to conduct a live-fire drill and I'll need a target. Preferably a moving one."

Roscoe held up his hands in mock surrender. "_Nicht sheissen, kamerade!_ Just so long as you shoot better than you bowl. You've been spending too long with the Joeys, my good chap, you've almost become more familiar in a red coat than a black one."

'Joeys' was deck slang for the Royal Marines who formed most of Rhys' gun crew. The fact that red coats had gone the same way as muzzle-loaders wasn't going to get in the way of a bit of intra-Service rivalry. Rhys opened his mouth to deliver a stinging rebuke when the tannoy fuzzed into life.

"_All officers to the bridge. Repeat, all officers to the bridge. Yes, that means you two."_

Rhys and Roscoe looked up at the bridge. Aldo was watching them like a hawk. They waved.

"Better do as he says," said Rhys. "All right, you chaps, stow the gun and stand down."

They returned to the bridge, where Aldo and Brogue were wearing almost identical expressions of irritation.

"What's wrong, sir?" said Rhys. "Someone send the balloon up while we were away?"

"I almost wish they had," said Brogue. "Look at the water. Tell me what you see."

Rhys peered over the side. The surface of the Channel was shining with rainbow swirls. He hadn't seen them from the deck, but from up on the bridge they were obvious.

"Oil spill, sir?"

"Exactly. The _Bordeaux_'s bunkers must have been breached. That just made our job a lot harder."

"Why, sir?" asked Roscoe.

"Because now it's environmental, not just political. We're going to have to cut off that slick and that'll probably mean boarding the blasted ship ourselves."

"Can't the humans do that, sir?"

"If they could, they would have by now. They've obviously not seen it." Brogue sighed. "It always falls to us in the end."

Rhys nodded. "Are we even allowed to do that, sir?"

"No," said Aldo. "Which is the other part of the problem. The _Bordeaux_ remains French property. And the French don't take kindly to the idea of us boarding without their permission."

"Why not?" said Roscoe. "It's for their own good as well, surely."

"They probably think that if we board it, we won't give it back," said Rhys, joking. "The Royal Navy doesn't have such a good record with the French."

Brogue nodded. "Just so. We've contacted Fleet, but they say we aren't allowed on board without French escort. We're going to have to change course to collect them."

Roscoe sighed. "And after all my good work, too. All right, sir, where to?"

Brogue looked at a piece of paper Aldo handed to him. "We're to rendezvous mid-Channel with the French submarine _Loire_," he said.

"Mid-Channel it is, sir." Roscoe went off to oversee the course change. As the horizon began moving, Rhys took the piece of paper as Brogue handed it to him. Sure enough, there was no getting around it. Rendezvous at line of maritime division to collect diplomatic mission of two from submarine _Loire_. Details of mission- senior diplomat Charlon, Charles and assistant de Lesseps, Sofia.

He sighed. "Does the galley know they'll have two extra to feed?"

"They've been told," said Aldo.

"Do the French know about the galley?"

"They'll find out," said Brogue. "And tough luck to 'em. We didn't ask for this."

"New course set, sir," reported Roscoe, straightening up.

"Thank you, Mr Chadwick." Brogue sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Inform when we're on station."

The Captain wandered off, muttering things about frogs. Rhys watched him go and looked at Aldo, who shrugged.

"Welcome to the Andrew," he said.

* * *

The Channel stretched away on either side of them, dark masses just on the horizon hinting at the French and English coasts. The sun was low enough to have begun changing from yellow to red and there was still no sight of the _Loire_. The _Larkwind_ bobbed on the current. Brogue drummed his fingers on the rail of the bridge and scanned the water. 

"Still no sign of them, sir," said Rhys. "I wonder where they got to?"

"They're probably here already," said Brogue darkly. "Probably right underneath us, playing possum. When they think we've stopped paying attention they'll surface alongside us and be insufferably superior about it. I never could stand ruddy submarines."

Rhys nodded and looked around. If the _Loire_ was in the vicinity, there was no obvious sign of it.

"You'd think they'd have the common courtesy to sail on the surface like a proper ship," said Brogue. "But no. A damned un-English weapon, that's what a submarine is."

Rhys decided not to comment on how close the damned un-English weapon had come to costing them both world wars.

"I don't suppose we've got any anti-submarine weapons to hand, lieutenant?" said Brogue.

Rhys blinked. "Full complement of ASW, sir. All depth charges accounted for. And the Hedgehog, of course." He pointed to a box at the base of the bridge tower. It concealed a number of small mortar bombs and had been one of the most effective U-Boat killers of the 1940s.

"Why do you ask, sir?"

Brogue shrugged. "Just idle curiosity, Mr Seddon-Tavish. Although if the frogs don't hurry up and get here I might ask you to fire something off just to wake 'em up." The Captain turned from the rail and went inside again, still complaining.

"Rendezvous with the French. What next? Fleet exercises with the Jerries?"

Rhys laughed to himself and shook his head. It wasn't so much that 'Bodgie' Brogue hadn't caught up with the latter half of the Twentieth Century as it was that he simply resented the fact that it had ever happened. Rhys put a telescope to his eye and peered around. Was it him, or was the water a little way off the port bow rippling strangely?

"Sir? Surface contact!"

Brogue hastened back and watched. "I think you're right, lieutenant. About bloody time too. All right, everyone! Man the sides! Sergeant of Marines, full parade!"

* * *

A whistle blew and the crew began preparing the _Larkwind_ to receive the dignitaries. Rhys straightened his tie and checked his cap was on properly. A sleek shape broke the water, long, blunt-nosed and rounded. A pair of tin cans had been attached halfway along the length of the object to form a conning tower- like their British counterparts, the rats of the French Navy had made do with whatever they could find. The main hull of the _Loire_ was quite plainly an old torpedo, presumably salvaged after it had run its course. As the submarine surfaced, figures began appearing in the tower, pointing to the British ship as it hove to and came alongside. Rhys hurried down to the quarterdeck to join the official party as mooring lines were traded and sailors tied the two vessels together. A plank was extended to the conning tower and secured, allowing the first French officers to begin crossing. 

"How much would you pay if one of them slipped and fell off?" whispered Roscoe out of the corner of his mouth. Rhys stifled a laugh at the thought and tried to look official. The French Captain dropped onto the deck and a keening note was played on a silver pipe, the traditional naval welcoming. The British stood to attention.

"Crew! Salute!" Brogue's stentorian tones echoed across the deck. Rhys snapped to and saluted as the French officer walked past and saluted Brogue. The Frenchman's crisp, pristine dress uniform contrasted sharply with the battered and faded reefer that Brogue normally called proper dress.

"Captain Louis Bruno, commanding the submarine _Loire_."

"Captain Brogue, HMS _Larkwind_." Brogue shook his counterpart's hand gruffly. "I hear you have some passengers for us to take aboard?"

Bruno gestured to the plank, where two figures in civilian clothes were trying to make their way across. Brogue watched for a moment or two and sighed.

"Lay a hand there, will you?"

Rhys nodded to Roscoe and they went forward. Roscoe took the arm of the leading civilian, an elderly rat with glasses who stepped gratefully onto the deck.

"Thank you, my boy," he said. "Special Envoy Charles Charlon at your service."

"I doubt that very much," muttered Brogue.

Rhys held out a hand to the second figure.

"One more step, ma'am. It's all right."

He took her hand and helped her off the plank. Her fur was soft and warm to the touch. Rhys smiled encouragingly at her and tried not to stare as she looked up. Her eyes were the colour of the Channel in spring and her light brown hair spilled past her shoulders. She wore a dark blue jacket buttoned down past her waist and a knee-length black skirt, possibly in concession to her current naval role.

"Thank you, monsieur," said Sofia de Lesseps. She smiled at the dumbstruck British officer, displaying a set of immaculate white teeth. "I am pleased to meet you."

"Hmm? Oh…yes. As I am you, madam. I mean, miss. Er, ma'am." Rhys grinned anxiously. He had never seen a French diplomat who looked this good before. What was he saying- he'd never seen _anyone _who looked-

Brogue coughed. Rhys, realising that he was still holding her hand, recovered his composure and stepped back, saluting. Sofia smiled at him again and shrugged before rejoining Charles, who moved forward to introduce himself to the bristling Captain.

"Eyes front, sailor," whispered Aldo. "It's a little early in the day to cause a diplomatic incident."

"People have gone to war for less," pointed out Roscoe. "The face that launched a thousand ships and whatnot."

"Well, let's leave that for another day, shall we?" said Aldo. "Protocol has certain demands."

"Yes, sir." Rhys nodded. He saw Sofia glance over her shoulder at him and smiled back. "It certainly does."


	2. The French Connection

"Charles Charlon of the French _corps diplomatique_," said Charles, shaking hands with Captain Brogue, who grunted.

"Good to have you aboard, sir. We're anxious to clean up the mess your ship made on our coast."

Charles shrugged. "If you wish to call 'er 'our ship', so are we. After all, the oil spill threatens our coastline as well. Allow me to introduce my aide, Sofia de Lesseps, Captain. She and I will be working together on this mission."

Sofia smiled to Brogue. "An 'onour to be on board, sir."

"Yes. It is." Brogue nodded to her. "Are all niceties completed, Captain Bruno?"

Bruno nodded. "They are, Captain. Unless I can convince you to join me tonight for dinner? Our cook is most excellent."

"I'm sure he is," said Brogue. "And I thank you for the invitation, but unfortunately we really must be going. Unless I can persuade you to share some of the Royal Navy's best cooking with me tonight?"

Bruno smiled thinly. "I too have pressing duties, Captain. When your mission is complete, we shall make contact again to bring home the envoy and his assistant."

He bowed. Brogue replied with as much of a bow as his midriff would allow without causing damage to his uniform. The two captains saluted and Bruno returned to his submarine. Brogue wiped his forehead.

"Thank God for that," he said. "Number One? Get us underway."

"Aye, sir," Aldo turned to the assembled sailors.

"Crew! Attention! Prepare to cast off!"

"Prepare to cast off, aye, sir!" Roscoe signalled to two ratings to cast loose the mooring lines binding _Larkwind_ to the _Loire_. As the submarine moved off, Aldo stood the crew at ease and dismissed them. Rhys and Roscoe turned to leave.

"You two! A moment."

They turned on their heels at Brogue's command. The Captain was standing with Charles and Sofia.

"Sir?" said Roscoe.

"You'll need to begin making arrangements for our guests' accommodation," said Brogue. "I can't promise much, you understand. This is a warship, after all, not the _Queen Mary_."

"I knew I ticked the wrong box when I signed up," whispered Roscoe. Rhys laughed quietly as Aldo shot the two young officers a stern look.

"We are quite prepared to take whatever you can offer, Captain," said Charles.

Brogue smiled. "Good. In that case, Mr Charlon, you can use my cabin. Mr Chadwick, would you be kind enough to set me up a cot in my day office?"

"Very good, sir," said Roscoe.

"And Sofia can have your quarters, Mr Seddon-Tavish," said Brogue. "You can move in with Mr Chadwick. You have a spare bunk, do you not?"

"Sorry? Oh, yes, sir. No problem." Roscoe nodded.

"You'll need to move your kit out of your quarters, lieutenant," said Brogue, turning to leave. "Why don't you use the opportunity to give our guests a tour?"

Charles bowed slightly. "I would like to, sir, but I 'ave much paperwork to complete before we arrive at the _Bordeaux_."

"I, on the other 'and," said Sofia. "Would be most grateful."

"Good." Brogue smiled. "See to it, you two."

Roscoe and Rhys saluted the departing Captain and turned to their new charges. Roscoe led Charles off, speaking to the diplomat in schoolboy French. Rhys shrugged and smiled to Sofia, who smiled back.

"Shall we?"

* * *

Rhys led the way down the corridor. 

"In all, HMS _Larkwind_ is some twenty six feet long and about three feet in the beam at its widest point. She's not the youngest ship in the fleet, but one of the best. Affectionately known as 'Lucky Larky' to those of us who have the pleasure of serving on her." He grinned.

Sofia nodded, impressed. "I must say, it is a most impressive vessel. I was anxious coming 'ere in the _Loire_. Captain Bruno was confident in it, of course, but I do not think much of using even a modified blank torpedo as a submarine."

"Nor do I, ma'am," said Rhys.

"I am glad to 'ear it," Sofia smiled. "So what is this ship made out of?"

"A bomb," said Rhys. "World War Two RAF surplus. A 22,000 pound bomb affectionately nicknamed 'Grand Slam' by the air wallopers but since salvaged and put to good use by us in the Senior Service. Sofia?"

He turned around and looked back down the corridor. Sofia was standing there looking somewhat unsure.

"They took the explosive out of it some time in 1947, Sofia, it's quite safe."

"Sailing inside an old bomb," muttered Sofia. "What a thing to do."

Rhys took her arm and led her on. "I can't imagine this is something your diplomatic training prepared you for," he said.

Sofia laughed. "Not much, no! To tell you the truth I was not sure why they sent Charles and I to do this assignment. I am a junior in the service and although Charles is much more experienced, maritime affairs are not 'is forte."

Rhys grinned. "It can't have escaped your notice that Captain Brogue isn't very enthusiastic about your mission either."

Sofia laughed again. She had the curious accent peculiar to Alsace-Lorraine and Rhys found himself enjoying the sound far too much.

"I did think 'e was a little un'appy to 'ave us on board! But never mind. I am already finding it not to be so bad."

Rhys realised she was looking at him when she said it and felt his heart skip a beat. He kicked himself mentally. _England expects that every man will do his duty, lieutenant! That includes you! Sharpen up, damn you!_

He coughed nervously and knocked on a door.

"This will be your room while you're on board."

Sofia raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it…your room?"

"Yes. But I'll be moving in with Roscoe- I mean, Lieutenant Chadwick- for the time being. He's got a bunk in his room so it'll be fine."

"No, no, I mean…if it is your room, why did you knock?" Sofia grinned. Rhys stopped and worked out what he had just done.

"Right. Yes, fair point." He opened the door and let Sofia in. She dropped her duffel bag on the bed and looked around the small room.

"Like the Captain said, not much but the best we can do." Rhys looked around and hoped that there wasn't anything too embarrassing on public display.

"It is quite 'omely," said Sofia. "I imagine I will come to like it."

"You'll have done better than me if you do," said Rhys. "I'll just collect my kit and take it to Lieutenant Chadwick's. I'll be back a moment, ma'am."

"Thank you." Sofia sat on the bed and began unpacking. "And I don't think you 'ave to call me 'ma'am' either."

"I could say 'your Excellency'?" said Rhys, cramming clothes into his pack.

"Not until I am a commissioned ambassador," said Sofia. "And who can say 'ow long that will take?"

Rhys grinned. "Then what should I call you, Ms de Lesseps?"

"My name is Sofia, Lieutenant," smiled Sofia, raising an eyebrow.

"Sofia it is, then. And mine is Rhys." Rhys shouldered his pack. "I won't be five minutes, ma'am. I mean…Sofia."

* * *

Roscoe was sitting on the top bunk reading when Rhys came in and dropped his pack on the bottom bunk. He grinned as his friend shut the door behind him. 

"How's your guest settling in, S-T?"

"Fine, fine," said Rhys.

"That well? I'm impressed."

Rhys stood up and shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, old chap."

"You're probably the only one who doesn't." Roscoe winked, slipped a bookmark between the pages and snapped the book shut. "I'd better go and see if Bodgie's new bed has been set up right. I'll be for the high jump if it isn't."

Rhys nodded. "To say the least. I'm taking Sofia on a tour of the ship. She's a little concerned that it's a bomb."

Roscoe sighed. "There's no pleasing some, is there? I'd be more concerned about the fact it's fifty-year-old RAF surplus. I'll see you at dinner, Rhys. Try not to scare her."

Rhys laughed and finished setting up his bed before going back to Sofia, who was waiting for him.

* * *

"Sorry about that," he said. "We'd best get on with it." He led her out into the corridor and shut the door behind them. A rating walked past and saluted Rhys before doing a double-take with Sofia and walking on. 

"That happens," said Rhys. "This way. The heads are up the bow end of the ship as are the other amenities."

"But we are going aft?" said Sofia, following him.

"A ship is only as good as its engines," said Rhys. "And ours are very good."

He paused at a heavy blast door and heaved it open. The room on the other side was noisy enough to make Sofia put her hands over her ears until Rhys passed her a pair of earmuffs. The air was filled with hot steam. Rhys led her through a gap in the pulsating, roaring machinery and tapped an orange-clad figure on the shoulder.

"Ahoy there! Duffy!"

The figure turned around. It was a stocky, short rat whose build almost suggested a certain mole-like inheritance.

"Rhys! About time you came down to see me." Duffy extended a grime-covered hand, which Rhys managed to avoid touching by gesturing to Sofia, who wasn't so lucky.

"This is Sofia de Lesseps from the French government!" shouted Rhys. "She came aboard to help us out with this shipwreck business!"

"Pleased to meet you, miss!" shouted Duffy. "Chief Engineer MacDuff at your service!"

"Good day to you!" Sofia wiped her hand on her black dress. "Is it always this noisy in 'ere?"

"No!" shouted Duffy.

"Good!"

"We're only at two-thirds speed! When we're going all ahead full it's much louder!" Duffy grinned.

Rhys looked at Sofia, who was clearly suffering in the heat and clamour.

"I'll see you tonight, Duffy!" he said. "We'd better be going!"

"Don't be strangers!" Duffy waved and turned back to his beloved engines. Outside, Sofia breathed out. Her body was still shaking from the pounding of the _Larkwind_'s machinery.

"I 'ope that doesn't 'ave to 'appen too often," she said.

"It won't," promised Rhys. "I'm sorry about that, I probably shouldn't have taken you there."

"Pardon?" Sofia stared at him.

"I said-" Rhys paused and reached out to take the earmuffs off Sofia's head.

"I said I was sorry."

Sofia tried to hide the embarrassment. After Rhys' gaffe with his own door, she'd felt slightly smug and was now regretting it.

"That is all right, Rhys. A tour is a tour, even the bad bits."

"It gets better from here, Sofia."

"Really?"

Rhys waggled a hand. "Aside from your quarters, the galley, the mess hall, my main magazines and the adjoining gun house. But the wardroom is quite nice. The junior officers gather there after dinner for a drink. You'd be welcome to join me there tonight. I mean, join _us_ there." He grinned.

Sofia inclined her head. "I would be glad to," she said. "But please, _your_ main magazines?"

"For the deck gun," explained Rhys, leading her forward. "I'm a gunnery lieutenant, Roscoe is a navigator. That means that Captain Brogue tells us who the enemy are, Roscoe points us at them and I shoot them. If I ever get that two-and-a-half-pound museum piece on the foredeck to work, that is." He rolled his eyes. Sofia laughed.

"And what does the Lieutenant-Commander do in all of this?"

"If you can figure that out, you're a better sailor than me," said Rhys. "Aldo's the boat's Number One. He's in charge whenever old Bodgie isn't on deck."

They reached another watertight door, which Rhys hauled open. Sofia stepped through into a low-roofed room which was largely occupied by tables and benches.

"Crew's mess," said Rhys. "Galley's through here. You'll be eating in the wardroom, of course, which is through here." He waved at a door, which opened. Rhys waved to the figure which stepped through.

"Hello, Bottom. I was hoping to get a word with you tonight."

"Oh, hello, Rhys! Yes, no problem. Just got to check the armoury."

"Bottom?" said Sofia, who was trying to understand.

"Acting Second Lieutenant Bottom, to be precise," said Rhys. "He's as close as you'll ever get to a Royal Marines officer. Also known as the Head Joey."

Bottom, whose green fatigues and three chevrons immediately marked him out as different from Rhys' black monkey jacket, grinned. He had an elongated face and the longest, thinnest ears Sofia had ever seen on a rat.

"Shakespearean reference, ma'am. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. Bottom the donkey. Anyway, I'd better hop it." He departed.

"Bottom commands the Royal Marines we have on board," explained Rhys, showing Sofia into the wardroom. "Well, when they're not part of my gun crew anyway. He's also nominally the ship's master-at-arms, so he's a very busy chap. Welcome to the wardroom. This is the one place on the ship that Bodgie isn't allowed to appear whenever he wants to."

Sofia took in the wood-panelled walls. The wardroom was small but cosy, with a handful of chairs and a low bar scattered around the carpeted floor.

"It is very nice," she said.

"I'm glad you think so." Rhys smiled and banged on a metal hatch set into one of the walls. It opened a crack.

"Ayup?"

"Hello, Leamy. What's cooking?"

The hatch opened a crack further to show the ship's cook in a white apron that hadn't so much seen better days as was crying out for euthanasia.

"Floaters in t'snow, sir. Leastways if'n I can get t'stove on again."

"Floaters in the what?" The crash induction into the Royal Navy was starting to get to Sofia's head.

"Bangers and mash to you," said Leamy. He glanced up and saw Sofia for the first time. "Er, that is, bangers and mash to you, ma'am. Sir." He added to Rhys, who was glaring at him.

"Be sure to let Duffy know if it keeps playing up, won't you?" said Rhys.

Leamy nodded. "Oh, aye, sir. Although I don't know 'bout letting t'grease wallahs into t'kitchen. Bad hygiene."

Rhys decided that Sofia's presence made commenting on Leamy's own hygiene inappropriate.

"Is the quack there?" he asked.

Leamy called someone over. The newcomer was also wearing white, although obviously took more care of their appearance than the cook.

"This is the PMO. Ship's doctor." Rhys introduced him.

The doctor nodded cheerfully to Sofia, who tried not to take too much notice of the large knife he was holding.

"Caldwell, ma'am. Pleased to meet you."

"Caldwell's been helping wi' t'carrots," said Leamy, noticing Sofia's expression. "Don't worry, ma'am, he's better wi' people than he is wi' vegetables."

Rhys hurriedly slammed the hatch shut.

"Well, that's almost everyone important that you'll need to know. Would you like to go on, or would you like a drink?" He gestured to the unattended bar.

"Is that allowed?" asked Sofia.

"Nominally, no. I'm still on duty. However under the circumstances I think it could be overlooked. Besides, there are worse things to be court-martialled for."

Sofia smiled. "Well, since you mention it…"

The door opened and Charles Charlon stepped through, looking flustered.

"Ah, Sofia! There you are at last. We 'ave a communiqué to attend to."

"From the ministry?" Sofia moved over to her superior. Charles shook his head.

"Not from the ministry, from…" He paused and looked up, noticing that Rhys was still present. He coughed and lowered his voice until even Sofia was barely able to catch it.

"From…customs and excise. Quarantine, you understand?"

Sofia's face went carefully blank. "I see. I shall be with you right away." She turned and smiled apologetically to Rhys. "Per'aps the drink will 'ave to wait?"

Rhys shrugged. "I'm sure it'll keep." He watched the two diplomats leave and wondered what they had been talking about.

* * *

Rhys returned to the bridge. The sun was low over the English coast and Brogue's mood was descending with it. 

"We'll not get there in time," he muttered.

Rhys cast an inquiring look to Roscoe, who shrugged.

"You're still sure about your ASW suite, Mr Seddon-Tavish?" said Brogue.

"Of course, sir." Rhys looked at him quizzically. "Can I ask why?"

"That damn frog submarine is still around," said Brogue. "Three periscope sightings since we picked up our ballast- sorry, distinguished passengers. Not only are they trying to shadow us but they're not even doing it right. Any half-competent anti-submarine gunner could have blown them out of the water by now."

Rhys scratched his head. "I don't think the French would take kindly to us firing warning shots near their submarine, sir. Nor would the Admiralty."

"Who said anything about _warning_ shots?" said Brogue, only half-joking. "Any sign of the _Bordeaux_, Mr Thiele?"

Aldo was standing on the bridge wing with a telescope. "Not yet, sir."

"We should be in sight of it by now, pilot," said Brogue to Roscoe. Roscoe shrugged.

"I've checked the pelorus twice, sir. We're on course. It must be the setting sun. It's hard to see when you're looking right into it."

Brogue paced the bridge once or twice before relenting. "All right. Bring us to one half-mile of shore, pilot, and drop anchor."

"Drop anchor?" Charles clambered onto the bridge behind them. Brogue turned slowly to face him.

"Drop. Anchor." He repeated slowly. "That coastline already wrecked up one ship, and it was a damn sight bigger than this one. I'll not take _Larkwind_ inshore unless I can see exactly where I'm going."

"But surely this is a mission of urgency?" said Charles.

"So it is. Which is why I can't risk the Queen's ships in fulfilling it, Mr Charlon. We stand off tonight and move in tomorrow morning at first light. We lost valuable time in detouring to collect you." Brogue raised a pointed eyebrow and turned back to Roscoe.

"Carry out my orders, Mr Chadwick."

Roscoe's eyes flickered between the Captain and the Frenchman, but only briefly.

"Aye, sir. Helm, reduce speed. Engines to one-third. Come to starboard one-zero degrees."

The ship began turning parallel to the coast. Brogue watched in satisfaction and turned to leave as the anchor was dropped over the side. Charles stood at the bridge railing with a look of unease on his face. Rhys moved over to Sofia.

"What's going on, Sofia?"

She hesitated a moment before replying. "The communication we received earlier…"

"From customs and excise?" said Rhys.

"Yes, yes…it 'as troubled Charles."

"They impound a shipment of daisies or something?" Rhys raised an eyebrow.

Sofia sighed. "There are some things I am not at liberty to discuss, Rhys. I am sorry, but I am sure you understand."

"I've signed the Official Secrets Act," said Rhys. "All right. It should be just about time for dinner. Care to join us?"

Sofia smiled. "For floaters in the snow? 'Ow could I refuse?"

* * *

The wardroom was relatively quiet. Rhys sat with Roscoe and Sofia in one corner. Aldo was doing his stint behind the bar and had dressed in his dinner jacket for the occasion, but in the absence of much custom was sitting with his feet up on the polished wood. The wardroom was a place where the junior officers could relax, and much of the custom and protocol of the upper deck was allowed to slide there. Bottom was sitting with a group of earnest Sub-Lieutenants- although not an officer himself, his position commanding _Larkwind'_s Marines earned him the respect of one- and Caldwell had joined them from the kitchen. Gentle snores came from the corner where Duffy had installed himself in the room's only couch and promptly fallen asleep. 

"I'm surprised Chas isn't here," said Roscoe, mopping up the last of his potato with a piece of bread.

"Chas?" said Sofia.

"Charles," explained Rhys. "I believe he has the great pleasure of dining with old Bodgie tonight."

They laughed. "I can't say I am sorry to be missing out on that conversation," said Sofia, grinning.

"Here's to a great leap forward in Anglo-French relations," said Roscoe, raising his glass in a mischievous toast and glancing from Rhys to Sofia. Rhys laughed and raised his own.

"To our illustrious Master, even now re-enacting the great battles from Agincourt to Trafalgar."

Sofia shook her head. "I am sure I shall never understand you British navy types and your ways."

"That's all right," said Roscoe. "We certainly don't. We make it up as we go along, isn't that right, old chap?"

"Oh, yes," affirmed Rhys. "All that nonsense about three years to build a ship and three centuries to build a tradition? Hardly so."

Roscoe winked, finished his drink and called across the room. "Can I have another, please, Aldo?"

"You can have whatever you like," said Aldo, not looking up from behind the bar. "So long as you come up here and pay for it."

"There's always a catch," said Rhys. "Welcome to the Andrew."

Roscoe picked up their glasses. "Oh, indeed. Anyone else for a nightcap, S-T?"

"I'm game." Rhys handed Roscoe a coin. "And you, Sofia?"

Sofia shrugged. "Why not?"

"That's the spirit." Roscoe grinned and headed off to the bar.

Rhys watched him go and looked over at Sofia. "So you really can't tell me what that message was about?"

The smile faded from Sofia's face. "I cannot. I am sure Charles would let your Captain know if it was important."

"Of course." Rhys nodded and took their plates over to the galley window. He paused for a moment and looked back across the wardroom. Roscoe had a glass in each hand and was balancing the third on his nose, Aldo was studiously ignoring him and there was a ripple of laughter as Caldwell finished telling a particularly good joke. But Sofia seemed almost small sitting in her chair, and Rhys wondered what it was she couldn't tell him.

* * *

The swell picked up during the night, making the deck roll. Rhys and Roscoe made their way along the moving corridor with the practised ease of long-time mariners. Sofia was having a slightly harder time of it, and the two officers helped her along as best they could although it was also obvious that the sea wasn't the only thing impeding her progress. 

"I really do not understand it," Sofia said, shaking her head. "I mean, it is not as if I 'ave never 'ad a drink before. I am a diplomat after all." She swayed and Rhys caught her before she could fall into the wall.

"It's probably the rum," suggested Roscoe. "She's not used to it. Navy-issue."

"You could be right," Sofia looked around and tried to find him. "I am more used to other drinks. 'Ave you ever tried cognac? I mean proper cognac, not what the Portuguese call cognac…"

"We could probably be disciplined for this," muttered Roscoe. "I'm sure Admiralty Regulations has something in it about not getting foreign dignitaries drunk…"

"She'll be all right," said Rhys. "Just make sure that Bodgie doesn't find out. Or Charles. I can't imagine he'd be happy about it either."

"I am perfectly fine," declared Sofia.

Rhys rolled his eyes. They had reached her cabin and he opened the door with his feet.

"You'll be all right?" said Roscoe. "I've got to get on watch."

Rhys nodded. "You go. I'll sort this out. And not a word to the Captain!"

Roscoe nodded and left in the general direction of the bridge. Rhys turned back to Sofia.

"I'll be on watch after him. Will you be all right here?"

"Of course." Sofia straightened up and smoothed down her jacket. "What makes you think-"

The floor lurched again. Rhys had enough time to brace himself against the wall before Sofia was thrown into him, knocking his cap askew. She giggled.

"What makes you think I wouldn't be, Rhys?" she finished, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. Sofia reached up and set Rhys' cap straight on his head and then trailed her hand down the nape of his neck.

"Ah…Sofia?" Rhys grinned hesitantly.

"Hmm?" She drew closer, uncomfortably so, her hand still resting softly on his neck. Rhys coughed.

"Roscoe was probably right about what could be done to me just for letting you get like this. God and Nelson only know what might happen if I…I mean, if we…"

"If we…what?" Sofia smiled and stroked her fingers lightly up his neck. "What's on your mind, Rhys?"

Rhys swallowed hard and extricated himself from between her and the wall with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…I'd better go, that's all. Sleep well."

He escaped before she could reply and shut the door. Alone in the pitching corridor, Rhys took a deep breath, shook his head, and set off for his own cabin.


	3. Diplomatic Relations

Sofia de Lesseps woke up with a head feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton wool. Not actually painful- thankfully she had avoided a hangover- but it was obvious what had happened the night before.

The night before…

An image passed in front of her eyes- Rhys backed against the wall and looking into her eyes with a mixture of fear and…something else? Sofia's eyes jerked open and she sat up, staring at the wall and trying to remember what else had happened. She couldn't really remember anything else, certainly nothing incriminating, although that wasn't necessarily proof that nothing else had happened.

"What 'ave I done?" she muttered, standing up. She was still fully dressed, which was a promising sign. Shaking her head, she tried to fix her hair and headed to the bridge. The fresh air would do her good.

* * *

Sofia reached the bridge to find it more or less fully occupied. It was already mid-morning and Captain Brogue had begun moving _Larkwind_ closer inshore to reach the wrecked freighter. It seemed like everyone was there. Brogue was pacing around, watching like a hawk everything that moved. Roscoe Chadwick was standing behind the helmsman, issuing a careful series of orders. Charles, in a gross breach of protocol, was sitting in the Captain's chair and looking decidedly green. Aldo and Bottom were near the door. Sofia looked around and spotted Rhys, who was overseeing Midshipman Mayweather at the bridge rangefinder. The younger rat was peering through the scope.

"Range?" said Rhys.

"Three-two-zero yards, sir."

"Is that nautical yards, Mr Mayweather, or landlubber yards?"

"Sir?" Mayweather looked curiously around.

Rhys sighed. Mayweather was from an old naval family and liked to say that he had salt water in his veins. Rhys believed it, if only because one look at the young, pale rat cast some doubts on his possession of much in the way of red blood cells.

"Never mind, old sock, never mind."

"Change course," said Roscoe. "Come right zero-eight degrees."

Rhys nodded to Mayweather. "You heard the pilot. Recompute range."

Mayweather set to work on the array of knobs and dials on the rangefinder. Sofia sidled over to Rhys and coughed quietly to get his attention.

"Oh! Good morning to you, Sofia. I hope you slept well?"

"I did, yes," Sofia looked around the bridge in an embarrassed kind of way. "I was 'oping to speak to you about last night, actually."

"Don't worry about it," said Rhys. "It takes everyone a few days to get their sea legs."

"I did not mean that." Sofia stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I meant that I wanted to talk about-"

"Don't worry about that either." Rhys watched Mayweather closely. "You weren't exactly _compos mentis_, Sofia. You didn't mean it. Roscoe once tried the same thing after we graduated." Compos mentis. Well, better than announcing the fact she was slightly drunk to the entire bridge.

"What makes you think I didn't mean it?"

Rhys looked up sharply and regarded Sofia with wide eyes. "What do you..?"

Sofia wished that they were alone on the bridge. She sighed. So long as they were resorting to Latin to avoid saying what they meant…

"_In vino veritas_, Rhys. That's all. Think about it."

She turned and walked over to join Charles and Aldo. Rhys continued staring after her. In vino veritas- in wine is truth. Rhys found himself wondering whether there might be some in Royal Navy-issue rum as well…

"Three-zero-zero yards, sir," said Mayweather.

"Hmm? What was that, old chap?"

"Recomputed range, sir. Three-zero-zero yards. Are you all right, sir?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Never better. Very good, Mr Mayweather."

Rhys looked over the bridge rail. The _Fortune of Bordeaux_ lay three hundred yards ahead. It was an immense ship, and had been a beautiful one as well, at least before her bright blue hull had been torn open by the unforgiving reefs. The blue of her hull, the white of her superstructure and the red Plimsoll line gave the ship a faint resemblance to the Tricolour which still flew from her radio mast. The oil slick discoloured the water around the _Larkwind_ as it closed. Things floated in the water dangerously near, and Roscoe reduced speed for the final approach.

"It's getting hairy, sir," said Roscoe to Brogue. "There could be anything around here. If any of the containers that got washed overboard didn't float they'll have sunk here. They could be anywhere."

"At least it might discourage that blasted frog submarine from following us in," muttered Brogue. "Take her nice and easy, pilot. No rush."

Roscoe nodded and turned back to the helm. A half-submerged container reared out of the water ahead of them.

"Evasive action! Turn to starboard and resume heading."

Rhys watched the container go by and consulted the navigation charts.

"It gets pretty shallow from here, sir," he said. "We probably can't get much closer."

"How far are we?" said Brogue.

Rhys looked at Mayweather, who fiddled with the rangefinder for a moment and wrote something down on his pad.

"One-one-two yards, sir."

"Hundred and twelve yards. That'll do. All right, Mr Chadwick, bring her to a stop and drop anchor."

"Aye, sir!"

Brogue relaxed slightly and turned to the assembled crew.

"Well, gentlemen. We are arrived. Sergeant of Marines?"

"Sir?" Bottom stood to attention.

"Assemble a boarding party. Talk to MacDuff and take some of his hands with you to shut off the oil flow."

"Aye, sir!" Bottom saluted and left the bridge. Brogue nodded to Rhys.

"You'll be in command of the boarding party, Mr Seddon-Tavish. Mr Chadwick? Prepare the launch. You'll command that."

"Yes, Captain!" Roscoe left the bridge. Rhys followed Bottom.

"Are you not forgetting someone?" said Charles.

Rhys paused.

"I don't think so," said Brogue patiently. "Why?"

"The _Bordeaux_ remains French territory," said Charles. "One of us must accompany you on board her."

Brogue didn't even try concealing his look of irritation. "Are you volunteering yourself, Mr Charlon?"

Charles held up a hand. "No, no! I think…I think my assistant is far better-suited to the task. I find that I am not very good at sea." He dabbed at his forehead.

"Oh dear," said Brogue, grinning nastily. "Not feeling a bit seasick, are you, sir?"

Charles nodded. "In fact, after last night, I think…it may be best if you deliver me ashore. I shall oversee your operation from Dover."

"Such a shame," said Brogue airily. "But if you insist. I'm sure Mr Chadwick can fit you into the launch somewhere."

"Most generous, Captain," Charles got unsteadily to his feet. Rhys and Sofia helped him off the bridge and down onto the deck. Roscoe and a handful of ratings were fussing over the _Larkwind_'s motor launch. Duffy was leaning against the wall and trying to smoke something in the lee of his hand. Bottom had scrounged half a dozen Marines from somewhere and had them lined up in parade style, each carrying a heavy kit bag. He saluted Rhys.

"Boarding party assembled, sir!"

"Thank you, Mr Bottom," said Rhys, passing them. "Lay a hand here, will you?"

They helped Charles into the launch. The elderly diplomat collapsed into the back and moaned. Roscoe rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing to me, S-T? This is a launch, not a hearse."

"I heard that," said Charles, faintly.

Rhys shrugged. "We're to take him ashore. He's going to…oversee us from Dover."

Roscoe grinned at the emphasis Rhys placed on the key word. "Works for me," he remarked. "All right, you chaps, if we're ready to go?"

"Royal Marines! Left face! Board the launch, quick….march!"

Rhys winced at the volume of Bottom's voice and reminded himself that, Acting Second Lieutenant as he was, Bottom was a Royal Marines Sergeant, a position that creates a certain kind of person. He followed the soldiers onto the launch and turned to help Sofia aboard. She took his hand and climbed over the side.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," said Rhys. "You'll need to be careful about this one. A boat this small is more vulnerable to the swell than _Larky_. You'll your sea legs about you."

Sofia smiled up at him. "I think I 'ave my sea legs now." She squeezed his hand and sat next to Charles, who had a handkerchief over his eyes. Rhys watched her for a moment and looked back to Roscoe who was grinning broadly at him.

"Are the passengers secured to your satisfaction, Mr Seddon-Tavish?" he said, the grin widening even further.

"And you can shut up, Mr Chadwick," Rhys said. "Just try not to sink us on the way over."

* * *

"So you think this is bad?" Duffy was saying to Charles. The engineer had given up on smoking, but kept the dogend behind his ear in case it came in handy later. The French diplomat was looking decidedly ill.

"It is as bad as I've ever known it," he whispered.

"Oh, this is nothing," said Duffy airily. "You should have been with us off Papa Westray that one time. Do you remember that, Rhys?"

"Oh, I do," said Rhys, grinning to Sofia. "First voyage after my commission came through. We came close to joining the jolly Submarine Service that day, it was so lumpy."

Duffy roared with laughter. "That's right! And the drive shaft compartment got flooded so this cadet and I went to have a look and fell in. And you know what happened then?"

"It's an enduring memory," said Rhys.

Duffy grinned at Sofia. "So there I am, up to my fundamentals in water, and what happens? The engineer cadet who was with me starts feeling a little woozy and chunders up all over the shop. Which leaves me not only up to, as I say, the fundamentals in water but now it's water with bits all floating-"

Charles groaned.

"It had been carrot-and-potato pie for lunch that day, too," Duffy went on. "So anyway, that's how it was, and then I have to bend down into the water to fix the drive shaft-"

Charles groaned again and was sick over the side. Duffy watched for a moment and looked sideways at Rhys.

"Was it something I said, Rhys?"

Rhys shrugged and winked to Sofia. "A good sailor has a tall story for every occasion," he said.

"If I was taller, it wouldn't have been such a problem," said Duffy.

Sofia laughed. Her hair was blowing in the slipstream and glowing with the morning sun behind it. Rhys found it far harder than it should have been to redirect his gaze ahead of them, where the _Bordeaux_ was towering above the launch as it approached. Roscoe brought them slowly in and grounded the boat gently on the shore.

"Welcome to the southeast coast, shipwreck site station," he said, turning off the engine. "The return service won't be for another three hours or so, so make the most of your time here. Please disembark carefully, and mind the gap."

Rhys chuckled and clambered over the side, turning to help Sofia down. The rest of the crew followed, Roscoe and two of the Marines staying behind to watch over the launch. Charles stepped gratefully ashore and called Sofia over to him. The two carried out a short but intense conversation in French, so fast that Rhys couldn't follow it although he was sure he heard the words 'customs and excise' on more than one occasion. Sofia shook her superior's hand and watched him set off up the beach. Rhys waved her over and turned to his small party.

"Well, chaps? Let's get this show on the road." He looked up at the towering wreck and tried not to look as nervous as he felt. There was a tear in the hull near the stern just low enough for them to climb into.

* * *

It was dark inside the _Fortune of Bordeaux_. The waves breaking against the hollow metal hull made it boom like a drum. There was no comforting sound of machinery or motion to hide the noise of the sea. Bottom unclipped a flashlight from his webbing and passed it to Rhys.

"We've got to find the controls for the fuel pump," said Duffy. "If there's an oil leak we can control it from there."

"Any idea where that might be?" asked Rhys, panning the torch around the vast, empty engine space.

Duffy pointed and they set off. The floor was titled at a crazy angle and was lightly coated with sump oil which made the air taste foul. They helped each other up a set of iron grated stairs and found themselves in a wide corridor. Duffy squinted down the other end.

"It looks like it's down there. Permission to take a couple of hands and go sort it out?"

Rhys nodded. "Permission granted. Mr Bottom? Sofia? Let's head up another deck and check out the cargo. Meet back here in twenty minutes."

They split up. Rhys led Sofia up a flight of stairs to the lower cargo decks, Bottom and his Marines close behind. As soon as they emerged out of the hatch, it was apparent that they were in a cavernous space. Their voices echoed as they looked around. Daylight spilled in from a tear on the far side of the hold, illuminating the wreckage and sharply defining the shadows.

"Blimey," said Rhys. "They'll never clear all this up."

Sofia shook her head. "It is a good thing you are not in the salvage business."

Rhys was moving among the debris. "Still, it looks as if everything is here below decks. She shed her containers up top, but at least the hold is still intact. Did you friends at customs and excise happen to mention what the cargo was, Sofia?"

Sofia looked uncomfortable. "Actually-"

Bottom silenced her with a raised hand. "Quick quiet! Listen!"

They waited. Rhys frowned in concentration and then he heard it too- light footsteps, the footsteps of someone trying to avoid being noticed. He gestured to Bottom, who spread his troops out and began moving stealthily forward. Sofia joined Rhys.

"What is 'appening?"

"There's someone else on board," whispered Rhys. "Which is bad, because we're the only ones who should be here. Probably pirates."

"Pirates?" Sofia drew closer to Rhys.

"Scavengers, call them what you like." Rhys scanned the area. "There can't be many, because if they outnumbered us they'd have attacked by now."

A projectile, a small bolt, arced out of the darkness and hit one of the Marines, bouncing off his helmet with a loud _ping_. The soldiers dropped to the ground instinctively. Rhys looked around wildly and saw the miscreant, a small shadowy figure ducking out from behind a crate.

"Hold your fire!" he shouted. The figure cannoned into him, nearly knocking him down.

"Oi! Hands off!" A second voice, gruff and with a London accent. A burly rat dropped down from somewhere above. Rhys could feel events sliding out of control, and he took the only course open to him.

"Marines! Take aim!"

The two strangers stopped as they realised that a variety of weapons were being pointed in their direction. They slowly raised their hands. Rhys picked up his torch and finally got a good look at them. The bigger rat was in early middle years, fading and receding brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Name's Malone. Nigel Malone," said the man.

Rhys flicked the torch beam onto the smaller figure. It was a young rat girl, skinny for her age. She barely came up to his waist, but there was a spark of defiance in her striking green eyes that Rhys couldn't help but respect. She had flame-red hair and was wearing a green jumper that almost reached to the floor.

"That's my daughter, Rita," said Nigel. "Now what'll you do? Are we under arrest?"

Rhys sighed. So much for pirates. "Oh, I really hope not. Marines, stand down."

There was a commotion behind them. Duffy and his companions burst in, evidently ready for a fight. They looked slightly unnerved that there wasn't one.

"We…heard a noise," said Duffy, half-heartedly.

"Is the fuel secured?" asked Rhys over his shoulder.

"No problem. Manual controls still worked." Duffy looked at Mr Malone and Rita. "Who are these people?"

"A reasonable question." Rhys looked them over again. "What are you two doing here?"

"Hunting," said Mr Malone. "All right, all right, I know it ain't exactly legal."

"Or even remotely so," said Rhys.

Mr Malone waved it off. "I just thought…an opportunity, you know. I've a family to take care of. It ain't easy."

Rhys smiled at Rita. "I can imagine," he said. The little girl smiled back.

"So now what do we do?" asked Sofia.

Rhys sighed. "We let these two go and continue checking the cargo. You two can get home, can't you?"

Mr Malone nodded. "Oh, sure. The _Dodger_'s moored over the other side."

Rhys assumed that he was referring to a boat of some kind.

"Good, good. Now, I'm letting you go now since I didn't see you take anything. Next time it might be different and I can't ignore my orders. So I'd rather not see either of you again." He grinned at young Rita. "Especially you."

Mr Malone nodded gratefully and began shepherding his daughter away. "You won't regret this, sir." He suddenly paused as if something that occurred to him. "Actually, there's one or two things you should know…there was another boat hanging around here last night. Didn't see who was on it, but I got the name off the stern."

"Yes?"

"_Toad Hall_. Funny sort of name, I thought, so I remembered it."

Rhys scratched his head. "_Toad Hall_? Well, I suppose it takes all sorts. Thank you for the tip, old chap, we'll bear it in mind."

He watched the man and his daughter disappear. Strange couple. Rhys turned to see Bottom supervising a Marine in levering open a cargo container which had fallen on a corner and half busted open.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Mr Bottom?"

"No," said Bottom. "But there's only one way to find out."

Rhys looked at the container again. It bore an interesting array of warning labels. He raised his voice.

"I really think you should get away from there, Mr Bottom!"

"Hang on, we're nearly there…" The Marine strained at the lever. The door gave way with a scrape of metal and the contents of the container spilled out. The Marine fell back, retching, and Bottom clamped a hand over his nose.

"Gasmasks! Now!"

The Marines reached into their kit bags and produced them- small steel thimbles stuffed with soaked rags. Hardly much protection, but better than nothing. Bottom tossed one to Rhys.

"You'd better get back," Rhys warned Sofia. She nodded, her face pale, and retreated to join Duffy. Rhys moved forward to inspect the contents of the container.

"Gordon Bennett…" said Bottom.

"Him, too," said Rhys. It was rat poison. Large hessian bags of the stuff, torn open by the fall. The fine powder lay in deadly piles.

"Nelson save us," muttered Rhys. "There must be enough here to poison half of London…"

"Over here, sir!" A Marine waved to them from another container. Rhys, already straining for proper breaths through his thimble, went to see. The contents of the second container were less immediately dangerous, but equally troubling.

"Fertiliser." Rhys ran a hand across one of the bags, his heart racing. "Fertiliser and rat poison. This place is a Weapon of Mass Destruction-in-Waiting. Everybody fall back to the launch. We've got to report this."

He looked over his shoulder. Sofia was waiting with Duffy, and was it almost a look of apology on her face?

* * *

Brogue was incandescent with rage.

"Bloody what? And bloody what? What half-daft crazy sod didn't tell us what that ship was carrying?"

Rhys said nothing. It was safest not to interrupt the Captain in mid-rant, provided that it was directed at someone else. Brogue stopped pacing and turned on Sofia.

"You! Why didn't you tell us? Weren't you told?"

Sofia hesitated. "Diplomatic messages are of the 'ighest security, Captain."

"I don't care about your security! I care about my crew! I nearly lost one today thanks to your security!"

"Private Sconner is recovering, sir," said Rhys. "Caldwell says he'll be able to resume his duties tomorrow."

Brogue glared at Sofia. "That could as easily have been Rhys, Ms de Lesseps! Or you! Why didn't you tell us?"

He sat down and massaged his temples, his temper having run its course.

"Well. Now what do we do?"

"We secure the site," said Rhys. "Which might prove problematic. We encountered one pair of treasure-hunters on board the _Bordeaux_ and they reported having seen another vessel in the area. Said it was called _Toad Hall_ or some such."

Brogue looked up. "_Toad Hall_, you say?"

"Yes, sir." Rhys raised an eyebrow. "Does the name ring a bell, sir?"

"It might," said Brogue. "Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee…"

"Sir?"

"Nothing. Thank you, lieutenant. Dismissed." Brogue waved a hand. Rhys saluted and marched out of the office, Sofia close behind.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"I'm going to have a shower first," said Rhys. "I can still smell that oil from the ship. I suggest you try to sort this out. The Captain's not happy, not happy at all."

"Oh, really? I 'ad not noticed," Sofia said sourly. She brushed past Rhys and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Rhys let the water from the shower fall around him. Oil was pernicious stuff and not easily removed, which was one of the reasons he had not opted to become an engineer. He closed his eyes and tried to wonder what was going on and what _Larkwind_ had just sailed into the middle of. He was sure that whatever it was, Mr Malone and that Rita girl weren't part of it- they looked like they were telling the truth. And other than them and the _Larkwind_, the only other clue was this mysterious _Toad Hall_, which had seemed to alarm Bodgie Brogue and that alone was cause for much concern.

"I will never get this smell out of my 'air."

Rhys' eyes snapped open. Sofia had occupied the shower stall next to him and was running her hands through her hair.

"I mean, it is not as if I did 'andstands in the stuff, so 'ow could it get into my 'air?" She glanced up and noticed Rhys, who blinked and tried to pretend he hadn't been looking.

"I 'ave sent a communication to Paris asking for instructions," said Sofia. "I am sorry for the trouble I caused. I was…only following orders."

"I understand," said Rhys. "And don't worry. I don't blame you. I don't even think old Bodgie does. He's just upset because he hadn't expected any of this to happen and he doesn't like admitting it."

Sofia smiled at him. Rhys was very glad that the shower cubicles were partitioned from knee to neck. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders and the water had smoothed her fur down her body. Rhys tried to concentrate and reached out to turn the cold water on harder- _Higher! Higher! Don't even think about things getting 'harder' right now, lieutenant!_

"You really think so?" asked Sofia.

"Sure," said Rhys, turning the tap furiously and not getting very much result.

"And you really do not blame me?"

"Of course not." The cold tap came away in his hand. Rhys muttered a suitably maritime invective and tried to screw- _tried to put_- it back on. "Like I said before, I've signed the Official Secrets Act. I know the kind of situations it can put you in. It can't be easy for you to do your job."

"No…no it is not." Sofia sighed. "But if I may say, I am glad that there is someone like you 'ere. You make it much easier."

Rhys looked around and realised that she was leaning against the partition. Fortunately she was not quite tall enough to see over it.

"Would that I could say the same about you, Sofia."

She laughed. "I do not make your life easier?"

"After today, I'd say you're in dire risk of making it shorter, not easier." Rhys leaned against the partition so that they were back to back. "But you do make it…more interesting."

He glanced over his shoulder. Sofia had half-turned to look at him. He did likewise.

"Interesting?" Sofia smiled again.

"Very," said Rhys. "_In vino veritas_? Very creative."

"And also honest," said Sofia. "And this time, I 'ave not been drinking your awful British rum."

"Jolly good." Rhys smiled.

"I am sorry about last night," Sofia said quietly. "I did not mean to- what would you say? Put you on the spot?"

They leaned in closer to each other. Rhys could see the water droplets clinging to her eyelashes and whiskers.

"That's perfectly all right, Sofia. Consider it forgotten."

"Really?"

Rhys shrugged. "Well, maybe not _forgotten_. As memories go, it wasn't a bad one. It might take something pretty special to top it."

"I wonder what that could be?" Sofia tilted her head close to his and locked eyes with him. Rhys smiled and-

"Blimey, S-T, what did you say to old Bodgie? He's blasting around the bridge like someone scuttled his shoes!"

Roscoe Chadwick had entered the shower room, a towel over his shoulders and his own shoes in his hand. Rhys and Sofia jerked apart and tried to pretend they had barely noticed each other. Roscoe looked from one to the other and the start of a lecherous grin appeared on his face.

"Don't even think about it, Roscoe," warned Rhys.

"I won't if you won't," grinned Roscoe. "My lips are sealed, old chap, which is more than might have been said for yours right now."

Rhys shook his head and turned off his shower. "You've a talent for timing, I can give you that."

"You on bar duty tonight?" Roscoe took the third cubicle and began unbuttoning his monkey jacket.

"I am," said Rhys. "So you might not want to order anything lest I slip some arsenic and old lace into it, you cheeky sod. I'll see you both in the wardroom. Right, Sofia?"

"Oh? Yes. Yes, of course." Sofia was facing away from him and from the set of her shoulders had crossed her arms out of embarrassment. Rhys sighed, finished dressing and left.


	4. Foreign Affairs

The wardroom was quieter than usual that evening, and Rhys found himself getting bored behind the bar. He brushed a speck of dust off the sleeves of his dinner jacket and picked up a glass to polish it. The crew had been unsettled by the events of the day and Rhys could hardly blame them. Unfortunately Brogue's chronic suspicion had permeated through the ship and Sofia was the recipient of many an askance look in the wardroom, although she tried to pretend she hadn't noticed. Roscoe was sitting with her but even he was not saying very much. Rhys wished he could go over and sit with her and say something comforting, but tradition was tradition and he stayed behind his bar. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure what he could say to her.

"Orange juice, please, sir," said Mayweather, passing a glass over. The Midshipman was a teetotaller, something of a rarity in today's navy- or any navy. Rhys took the glass and refilled it.

"Tuppence, old chap. And you don't need to call me 'sir' while we're in the wardroom. We're all equals here. Except for Mr Chadwick, whom you can address as you like."

"Sir?" Mayweather handed over his money and frowned. Rhys sighed.

"Never mind, never mind. Not much action tonight, is there?"

Aldo joined them. "It's understandable. When we left Portsmouth this was just a salvage-and-secure. God only knows what it is now."

"Has the Captain heard back from the Admiralty?" asked Rhys.

Aldo shook his head. "Not a word. Nor has our guest over there heard back from Paris." He nodded to Sofia. Rhys bridled. There had been too much emphasis on 'our guest' in that sentence for his liking and Aldo's dry Irish accent hadn't done much to disguise the implication.

"It's actually not her fault, you know, Aldo," he said carefully. "She's got to answer to her superiors just like we do. Just because she's a civilian doesn't mean she hasn't orders to follow."

"She let the boarding party walk into danger without even giving a warning," said Aldo. "Whatever else she is, that's just not decent."

"Thank you, Aldo, I was there," said Rhys, picking up a dirty glass in order to give his hands something to do. Formalities were relaxed in the wardroom, but courtesy wasn't and being rude to a superior officer was seldom a good idea for an ambitious junior, let alone duffing one in the head. To his credit, Aldo realised that he might have gone too far.

"Not that it's really her fault," he said. "She's young. Too young to be handling this sort of thing in my view. They should send a replacement for Charlon if they want this to be handled right."

"I think she's capable," said Rhys. "Charlon was the problem, not her. Besides, Aldo, she's the same age as me and you're happy to trust me with the Webley. And Mayweather, too."

Aldo raised an eyebrow. Mayweather smiled cheerfully. There was a knock at the wardroom door, which immediately attracted everyone's attention. The wardroom was the officer's sanctum and it was seldom disturbed. The door opened and Bottom stepped through.

"Evening, all," he said. "Er, Aldo? Rhys? Roscoe? Bodgie wants you on the bridge right away."

"What, now?" said Roscoe. "I was just settling in."

"I'm sure Bodgie'll apologise for the inconvenience when he realises that," said Bottom. His face was serious. Rhys put the glass down and wiped his hands on a towel.

"Something awry, old sock?"

"We just got a reply from Admiralty," said Bottom. "And it's not good, Rhys, not good at all."

* * *

Bottom held the bridge door open to allow the officers through. Brogue was standing by the radio. He was holding his battered cap under one arm and drumming on it, a sure sign of agitation. The officers lined up in front on him and saluted. 

"Reporting as ordered, sir," said Aldo.

"Thank you, Mr Thiele." Brogue stood them at ease. "I've asked you all here because…Mr Seddon-Tavish, do you have a date tonight?"

Rhys looked down at his dinner jacket. "Sorry, sir. Bar duty."

Brogue nodded, satisfied.

"As I was saying. The situation has become more serious. You've all heard of what the boarding party found on the _Bordeaux_. This has been reported to Admiralty, along with the testimony of the two scavengers you briefly detained. They may have been the key to this whole endeavour."

"Sir?" Rhys was puzzled.

"The name _Toad Hall_ did indeed ring a bell. A Captain's-level despatch was sent around a fortnight ago warning all ships to be on the lookout for it. The ship belongs to a gang leader known as the Toad."

"The Toad, sir? What's the filthy green walloper doing here?" Roscoe asked. Brogue looked at him. "You've heard of him?"

"My family's from Ratropolis, sir," said Roscoe. "The old man writes every now and then to say that things are bad and getting worse and that it's all the Toad's fault."

"Things may be about to get a very great deal worse," said Brogue. "We have reason to believe that he means to get his slimy hands on the _Bordeaux_'s cargo." He stopped and looked his officers in the eyes. "This is no longer a coastal salvage operation, or even an environmental containment mission. This is now a matter of highest national security. The defence of the realm is at stake, gentlemen. All available resources have been scrambled, but for now it's just us. _Corposant_ will arrive to assist us shortly and the _Royal St. James_ is heading south from the Firth of Forth."

There was a pause while the Captain's words sank in. Aldo was the first to speak.

"Sir, what would the Toad want with the cargo?"

"I imagine to distribute it as widely as possible," said Rhys. "Sorry, sir, I jumped in a bit there." He grinned apologetically, but Brogue ignored the interjection.

"Ammonium nitrate at rat poison together form a chemical weapon, Mr Thiele. Ratropolis in under threat. It now falls to us to ensure that the Toad does not get hold of those ingredients. Mr Chadwick? How soon can you take the launch ashore to land a guard on the _Bordeaux_?"

Roscoe shrugged. "I wouldn't want to do it in the dark, sir. And I couldn't anyway, it's low tide. We need to wait for high tide or the launch can't get near shore. Probably mid-morning tomorrow is the earliest, sir."

Brogue accepted this. "So be it. Mr Bottom? You'll be in charge of preparing a force to go ashore."

Bottom saluted. "Aye, sir!"

"Do the French know about any of this, sir?" said Rhys.

"They will," said Brogue. "Admiralty has contacted French Naval Command. They're happy to accept British control of the counter-terrorist operation."

"Will they be sending us any help, sir?" asked Aldo.

"Not officially. This is our bag to carry," said Brogue. "And I'd not have it any other way, Mr Thiele. Although I imagine the _Loire_ might intervene if they're still skulking around."

"Is that likely, sir?"

"What, that the damned submarine's still lurking? Oh, yes, Mr Thiele, I can feel those blasted things a league away."

Brogue looked at his officers again and nodded. "Well, that's it. I'll inform the crew of our new mission tomorrow morning. You are dismissed."

"Sir, what about Sofia? I mean, Ms de Lesseps?" Rhys held up a hand.

"She'll be told through her own people," said Brogue. "In the meantime…I suppose you'll just have to tell her that she's stuck with us. We can't shuttle her back to France and the French won't admit that they left the _Loire_ to watch us otherwise they could pick her up. Oh, and Mr Seddon-Tavish? If you could possibly get that bloody gun working at your convenience? We might be needing it soon."

* * *

They saluted again and left the bridge in a sombre frame of mind. Roscoe went back to the cabin he shared with Rhys to prepare for his watch, Bottom disappeared into the armoury to take inventory and Aldo headed for the engine room. Rhys returned to the wardroom alone to find it deserted. 

"Couldn't even wait for us?" he said to himself. "Dashed impolite, I call it."

There was a noise from behind the bar. Sofia straightened up and smiled at him.

"Oh, some of us are still 'ere," she said.

"I'm glad to see it," said Rhys. "What are you doing back there?"

"Trying to find an alternative to that terrible rum of yours," Sofia joked. "It caused so much trouble last time. You know you 'ave a tape player back 'ere? What kind of music do you listen to?"

"_Hearts of Oak_," said Rhys. "And some below-average Celtic revival nonsense whenever we let Duffy or Aldo near it." He reached over the bar and pressed the button. The tape whirred into life and slow music came over the speakers.

"Ah," said Rhys, approvingly. "Sinatra. Very good."

"Is it yours?" asked Sofia.

"No, but I'm happy to take the credit for it," Rhys said. He began singing along. "'In other words, hold my hand…in other words, darling, kiss me…'"

He stopped and realised they were both singing the line. Rhys cleared his throat. "Maybe we should turn that off," he said, and pressed the button again.

"What was all that about on the bridge?" Sofia asked, changing the subject. "Or would you 'ave to kill me?"

"No, but Bodgie would probably kill me," said Rhys. "You'll be hearing about it soon enough, I imagine."

"It sounds serious," said Sofia.

"It is," said Rhys. "Or rather, it had better not be. We're going to be on station a while longer, I'm afraid. We can't return you to France so you're going to be stuck with us for the time being."

"That is not so bad a thing as I might 'ave thought." Sofia stretched languidly.

"You say that now," said Rhys, grinning. "Just wait until you've had Leamy's floaters in the snow for a week straight."

"There are compensations," said Sofia, looking up as Rhys leaned casually on the bar. "The accommodation 'ere may not be five-star, but the staff are very good." She raised an eyebrow and flicked Rhys' jacket lapel playfully. "Very professional."

"Not too professional, I hope," Rhys smiled and leaned towards her, noting with approval that she was wearing some kind of perfume she hadn't had on before, even if it was only to disguise the smell of Royal Navy soap. "We should be allowed to have some fun, after all."

Sofia smiled again and leaned fractionally closer. Just before their lips met, he swore he heard her give a small sigh of assent. The kiss was brief but genuine and when they next looked at each other, their eyes were shining brightly.

"I'm glad we sorted that out," said Rhys quietly. "I was beginning to worry."

"And this time, I am not drunk," said Sofia. "So you cannot use that as your excuse. You say the Captain does not come 'ere. And Roscoe is not likely to barge in since 'e is on watch."

"I admire your confidence," Rhys smiled. "But the odds of Roscoe being where he should be at any given time are not all that favourable."

"I am prepared to risk it," Sofia closed her eyes and kissed him again, reaching under the bar to turn the tape back on. She took his hand and led him into the middle of the room as Sinatra came on again. Rhys stood and watched her uncertainly. Sofia laughed. "Don't tell me you 'ave never learned to dance, Rhys?"

He pulled a rueful face. "Funnily enough they were more interested in petty things like gunnery and navigation at my school."

Sofia took his hands and began leading him. "It is not so difficult. I am surprised you do not know already, being an officer and a gentlemen."

"Fifty percent," said Rhys, trying to keep up with her movements. "I'll let you figure out which fifty."

Sofia smiled and rested her head on his shoulder as they danced. "I wish I could talk to your compatriots as easily."

"The crew will come around," said Rhys. "They're just a little surprised at how things have turned out. Don't take it personally."

"They are not the only ones surprised." Sofia sighed and looked down. "I do not know what is going to 'appen now, Rhys."

Rhys stroked her hair. "Whatever it is, it can't be all that bad. I can think of worse people to be in a jam with than you."

"I might not be much use when the cannonballs start coming through the sides," warned Sofia, looking up.

"That's all right. I probably won't be either," grinned Rhys. "So long as I get in a few shots of my own, I'll be happy."

There was a knocking on the door. Rhys muttered something dark and stepped away from Sofia, who took a seat on the couch.

"Who is it?"

"It's Mayweather, sir! Message from the bridge!"

Rhys opened the door. "What could Roscoe possibly want with me?"

"Not you, sir, begging your pardon." Mayweather looked at Sofia nervously. "It's for you, ma'am. Top priority message from your side."

"From Charles?" Sofia stood and smoothed down her jacket.

"No, ma'am, from Paris!"

Sofia's face was serious. "I see. Thank you, I shall be there directly."

Mayweather saluted Rhys and ducked away. Sofia turned to Rhys.

"We seem to be good at being interrupted," she commented.

"I imagine you're about to get the news," said Rhys. He took her hand comfortingly. "Try not to worry. It can't be as bad as it sounds."

Sofia smiled and left for the bridge. Rhys watched her go, his heart singing, but his mind wondering how deep was the dire situation that they had sailed into.

* * *

Rhys climbed onto the bridge to start his watch. The sky was just beginning to lighten as the sun rose. 

"Roscoe?" He looked around. There was no reply. Rhys repeated the name and began creeping towards the Captain's chair.

"Roscoe? Change of watch, old bean."

Still nothing. Rhys grinned to himself and lowered his voice to imitate Captain Brogue.

"On your feet, you disgraceful excuse for a sailor! Stand to!"

Roscoe, who had been asleep in the chair, shot to attention and saluted.

"Very sorry, sir! Wasn't asleep, sir! Just checking my eyelids for leaks, sir!"

He blinked as his brain caught up with his mouth and noticed that Rhys was watching him cheerfully. He subsided.

"You're a mongrel, S-T. What was that for?"

"My own amusement," said Rhys. "Although falling asleep on watch is also a punishable offence. You're lucky it's me relieving you and not Aldo."

Roscoe nodded and yawned. "I know. So not a word, all right?"

"As if I would," said Rhys.

"Oh, I know," Roscoe grinned slyly. "Besides, you old cad, you've got better things to be doing, haven't you?"

"What are you on about, Roscoe?" asked Rhys resignedly.

"A certain young lady in the wardroom, S-T? And in the shower, too, although I like to think that I contributed a wrench in the works on that occasion." Roscoe's grin widened until it threatened to remove the top of his head. Rhys wondered how- and what- Roscoe knew about the wardroom and decided that Mayweather must have said something. That was a problem, because if he said something to Roscoe he could as easily say something to Brogue.

"I don't blame you for a moment, of course," Roscoe went on, nodding judiciously. "Just remember to hang a sock on the door handle, that's all."

"At some point, old chap," said Rhys, "You're going to reach the bottom of the barrel. And what'll you do with yourself then?"

"Keep digging, of course," said Roscoe, matter-of-factly. "Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Just try not to get yourself distracted by the thoughts of a certain person. _Oh, Rhys, je t'aime!_ _Je t'aime!_"

Rhys pushed him away. "You're not helping your case here, Roscoe. Avast that and get- good grief…"

"I have plenty," joked Roscoe. He realised that Rhys hadn't been talking to him, but was staring out the bridge windows. Roscoe looked as well, and then he saw it.

Rhys swallowed. "You'd better get the Captain up here," he said. "He'll need to see this."

Roscoe nodded and left for the thankless task of waking Brogue. Rhys picked up a telescope and looked again. There was no doubting it. Wrapped around the _Fortune of Bordeaux_'s propeller and rudder was a heavy steel chain. This wasn't an accident.

Brogue stormed onto the bridge. The Captain was still in his pyjamas but had buttoned his ancient reefer over the top and jammed his cap onto his head.

"One day," he was muttering, "I'll be called onto the bridge and it'll be _good_ news. Her Majesty will have made me a CBE. Or maybe the French will have called and admitted that the whole thing was a bad joke."

Rhys got halfway through a salute before Brogue snatched the telescope from his hand and put it to his own eye, still grumbling.

"Bollocks," he said. "That's just about torn it."

* * *

Sofia had been trying to sleep, but hadn't had much success. Her heart was still racing from the brief moment with Rhys in the wardroom and she was acutely aware that she was lying in what was, technically, his bed. There was a knock at the door and she sat up. 

"Yes?"

"It's Mr Thiele, ma'am!" called a voice. "You're needed on the bridge."

Sofia swung her legs out of bed and reached for her jacket. "I will be right there, Mr Thiele. Thank you."

She heard the lieutenant-commander's footsteps recede quickly away and buttoned up her jacket. Her shoes were somewhere under the bed and it took her a few moments to root them out again. She made her way to the bridge.

"Sofia!" Rhys smiled briefly as she came on deck. It was a genuine smile, but it fell away quickly. Something serious must have happened.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," said Brogue. "Look at the ship, Ms de Lesseps. Tell me what you see."

Rhys passed her a telescope. Sofia focused it.  
"I see the ship, Captain. I am sorry, is there something in particular I should be looking for?"

Brogue muttered something about diplomats. "The propeller, Ms de Lesseps."

Sofia did so. "It appears to 'ave a chain around it."

"A cargo chain to be precise," said Aldo. "Freighters carry them to secure the container stacks in high winds."

"And there was a storm when the _Bordeaux_ went aground," said Sofia, frowning. "Per'aps the chain broke free and fell overboard?"  
Brogue shook his head. "It should have sunk in that case. No, Ms de Lesseps, that propeller has been deliberately fouled. By someone who knew that it would send the ship aground on the English coast."

Sofia looked to Rhys, who nodded seriously.

"This is sabotage, Sofia," he said.

"How soon can you land your Marines, Mr Bottom?" Brogue asked.

"They're ready at a moment's notice, sir," said Bottom. "But I'm not the one who can answer that. Mr Chadwick has to take the launch ashore."

"Pilot? How soon?" Brogue turned his gaze to Roscoe, who shrugged.

"The tide's still too low, sir. That's why we can see the propeller, after all. It'll be a while yet."

Brogue hissed impatiently and shook his head. "Damn it! This gets worse by the minute and we can't do anything about it!"

"Can't help that, I'm afraid, sir."

"I know, Mr Chadwick," Brogue paced a couple of steps. "Nothing for it. We wait. But I want your troops ashore the instant, and I do mean the instant, it becomes possible. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Bottom and Chadwick saluted. Brogue nodded gruffly.

"In the meantime, contact the Admiralty and let them know. No doubt the civil authorities will want a piece of this now. And Ms de Lesseps, since one of your ships was the victim of foul play, I suggest you contact the powers-that-be on your side as well."

"I will, Captain," said Sofia.

"Good." Brogue took off his cap and scratched his head, suddenly looking very tired. "You all know what you should be doing. I suggest you go back to doing it." He left the bridge, ignoring the salutes his officers gave him.

Rhys breathed out and glanced at Roscoe.

"This is over my 'ead," said Sofia quietly, looking at the floor. "I should not be 'andling this. You need someone from the GIGN, not me."

"You'll be fine," said Rhys. He patted her shoulder, awkwardly aware of the presence of the others on the bridge. She smiled at the comforting gesture and looked up.

"Thank you for saying so," she said.

"Any time," said Rhys. "Welcome to the Andrew."

"Welcome to the Andrew indeed," said Roscoe. "This sort of thing can happen. I was nervous myself the first time we got into something like this."

"When did that 'appen?" asked Sofia.

"Never," Roscoe grinned.

"Ignore him," said Rhys. "He's just trying to weird you out."

"'e does not need to try," said Sofia. "I should go and prepare my message to Paris."

"Good luck," Rhys gave her a small smile. "Try not to scare them too seriously. It's really not so bad."

Sofia smiled back. "I will see you around, Rhys," she said. She left the bridge, singing _Fly Me To The Moon_ under her breath.

"I'd count on it," commented Roscoe.

"Shut up, Roscoe," said Rhys, reflexively. Roscoe doffed his cap and left the bridge. Rhys shook his head, laughing, and looked back out across the water. Despite the serious turn of events, he found himself smiling as he did so.


	5. An International Incident

Brogue inspected the boarding party with a critical eye. Bottom had assembled as many Marines as could be spared, and then had opened up _Larkwind_'s armoury. A Royal Marines Sergeant acting as the ship's master-at-arms was a match made in heaven.

"Was all that kit really necessary, Bottom?" asked Rhys. He was standing to one side with Sofia, his own modest kitbag over his shoulder and his sabre under one arm.

"There's no such thing as too much firepower," said Bottom, confidently. "If you think you have too much firepower, it's because you haven't found enough targets."

"Are you angling for my job, Acting Second Lieutenant?" Rhys looked at the Royal Marines as they stood in parade order. Spring-loaded ball-bearing rifles were slung over their shoulders and bayonet holsters hung by their sides. Bottom himself was identically-dressed but had smeared engine oil on his face commando style.

"You sure you can't spare me the odd cartridge from the Webley, sir?" said Bottom, wistfully. "I could do a lot of damage with one of those."

"Yes. To yourself and those around you. I've explained this before, Bottom, there's a reason guns have barrels." Rhys sighed.

Brogue completed his inspection and nodded to them. "Very impressively done, Mr Bottom. I commend you."

"Thank you, sir," said Bottom, standing to attention.

"Mr Chadwick? Is the launch ready?"

Roscoe saluted. "Aye, sir! Tide's high enough to get ashore. We're ready to go at your command."

"The command is given," said Brogue. "Godspeed to you. And remember what you're looking out for. If you see the _Toad Hall_ anywhere, you let us know at once. If you see the _Loire_ anywhere, you can tell us about that, too."

"Aye, sir!" Bottom saluted. He ordered his soldiers aboard the launch and turned to his second.

"You're in command of the _Larkwind_ detail, Corporal Green."

Green saluted. He was a heavy-set rat with a shaven head. "Thank you, sir. Good hunting."

Rhys boarded the launch and helped Sofia up behind him.

"Once more unto the breach," he said. "Try not to get trigger-happy, Mr Bottom. Remember that the last time we boarded her we found a couple of civilians."

"Which you told to get lost," said Bottom, getting on. "So we're probably all right."

"Which is the last sound people hear before they aren't." Rhys sighed. "All right, Roscoe, let's go."

Roscoe waved to the crew on the derrick, which creaked into life and lowered the launch over the side.

"Not sure why the Captain insisted you two come with us," said Bottom. "I can handle this."

"Because Roscoe has to stay with the launch," said Rhys. "And to make sure level heads prevail. Don't you think there's a shining good reason that I outrank you, Acting Second Lieutenant?" He grinned.

"Affirmative action?" suggested Bottom.

"No talking up the back there," called Roscoe. "All right, chaps, everybody hang on to something."

Roscoe gunned the engines with a vengeance. The launch shot off at high speed, prompting its passengers to lunge for the nearest thing to hand. In Sofia's case, this was Rhys. He overbalanced and they fell back into the stern together, a hopeless tangle of limbs and tails.

"Whoops!" said Roscoe, cheerfully.

"Are you sure you're qualified to steer this thing, Roscoe?" said Rhys, getting up. "This isn't an audition for _Ripley_'s. Are you all right, Sofia?"

"I 'ave 'ad softer landings," admitted Sofia, dusting herself down. "But I will live."

The _Bordeaux_ reared up ahead of them, casting a shadow across the water. The incoming tide had returned the oil slick to the beaches and the spray the launch left behind it was darkly tinged and foul-smelling.

"And this time nobody is to play with the cargo," said Rhys. "Understood?"

Bottom sighed. "As you say, sir."

Roscoe brought the launch in as close to the _Bordeaux_ as he dared and let it drift ashore. It settled on the beach, riding the crest of a wave as it spilled over.

"All ashore who's going ashore," said Roscoe, turning off the engine. "Mind the gap."

Rhys jumped down onto the dirty sand and turned back as a Marine handed him his bag. The party disembarked and looked around. _Larkwind_ seemed very small and far-off already. Roscoe secured the launch with a length of rope and joined Rhys.

"Well, I suppose we're pretty well committed, S-T."

"You should have been committed a long time ago, Roscoe," said Rhys, patting his shoulder. "Let's get this show on the road. Mr Bottom? Take a section into the wreck and sweep it from the bows."

Bottom nodded and gestured to half the Marines to follow him. They trooped off towards the ship. Rhys turned to the remaining soldiers.

"You chaps set up the Aldis light above the high tide line. Make sure at least two are guarding it at any given time."

The Marines saluted and began manhandling a high-powered light off the launch. It was a detachable flashbulb of the sort used by old-fashioned cameras and was attached to a rough bundle of batteries by wires that had definitely seen better days, or possibly millennia. Rhys eyed them sceptically.

"Maybe I should have asked Duffy to check those connections," he mused.

"Too late now," said Roscoe. "Unless you do it yourself, S-T, I always thought you were something of a bright spark."

"No, that's just my magnetic personality." Rhys winked to Sofia, who smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Beacon ready, sir!" reported one of the Royal Marines. Rhys nodded and walked up to the flashbulb, which the soldiers had propped against a rock. He picked up a pair of severed wires with sprays of corroded copper and sighed.

"Couldn't get that hair trigger attached, could we?" he said. "Never mind."

"Are you sure that is safe?" said Sofia, nervously.

"No," said Rhys. "Signalling _Larkwind_- personnel ashore and safe."

He brushed the wires together, creating a series of sparks and a burnt smell in the air. The bulb flickered with brilliant white light as the current arced, flashing the message across the water. Roscoe watched the distant _Larkwind_ through a telescope and nodded with satisfaction as he saw a red-and-white pennant lifted to the mast.

"_Larkwind_ signalling receipt of signal, S-T," he said.

Rhys dropped the wires.

"Thank God for that. Disconnect the batteries and see if you can't fix up those ends a little, will you?" He wiped his hands and grinned to Sofia. "Piece of cake, old thing, nothing to it."

Sofia sighed and shook her head. "Please do not do that again."

"Welcome to the Andrew," said Roscoe. "That's not quite the most insanely suicidal thing I've seen him do."

"What was that?" asked Sofia.

"Getting into a launch piloted by him," said Rhys. He looked up at the bulk of the ship. "We'd better board her ourselves and see where we can bivvy down for tonight."

* * *

They walked through the engine space, shoes slipping on the sump oil.

"It was 'ard enough to clean this stuff off last time," muttered Sofia. "There must be an easier way of doing this."

"Well, you could always take another shower," said Roscoe, with the innocence of the truly damned. Sofia blushed slightly. Rhys just glared at him.

"Sir?"

One of Bottom's Marines was waiting for them at the top of the steps. Rhys looked up.

"Yes, Lance-Corporal, what is it?"

"We've found someone, sir," the soldier said.

"Who?" Rhys put a hand to the hilt of his sword.

"It's that man from before, sir," explained the Marine. "You'd better come and talk to him, sir, he's right ropable."

"I bet he is," muttered Rhys. "Nelson save me from opportunists."

In the cargo hold, Nigel Malone was standing with a protective arm around little Rita in the middle of a circle of Royal Marines with rifles in hand. Rhys sighed.

"Nigel, isn't it? Didn't I tell you to leave before?"

"Ain't that simple, mate," said Mr Malone. "I can't be going back to Ratropolis empty-handed. I've got a family to look out for."

Rhys looked interested. "You're from Ratropolis?"

"That's right," piped up Rita. "You want to make something of it?"

Mr Malone patted his daughter's red hair. "Easy, girl. Second rule of successful scavenging: Never irritate people with more guns than you. Yes, I'm from Ratropolis. Why?"

"What can you tell us about someone called the Toad?" asked Rhys.

"The Toad?" Mr Malone looked alarmed and then angry. "You want nowt to do with that one, sir, he's a right evil bugger. Turned up a few years back and damn near took over the city."

"That's what my father said," said Roscoe. Mr Malone looked at him for a moment.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Good point. Introductions." Rhys waved to Roscoe. "Nigel Malone, Lieutenant Roscoe Chadwick. Lieutenant Roscoe Chadwick, Nigel Malone."

"Chadwick? Any relation to Molly and Lachlan Chadwick?" said Mr Malone.

"Mother and father, as it happens," said Roscoe. "You know them?"

"Aye, they're good people." Mr Malone nodded to him and then his face darkened. "But what's the Toad got to do with this?"

"That boat you saw earlier? The _Toad Hall_? Seems an odd coincidence of name, doesn't it?" said Rhys.

"He's planning something?" Mr Malone frowned. "Then we've got to get back to the city." He made to move off and found himself staring down Bottom's rifle.

"What makes you think you can go anywhere?" said Bottom. Rhys sighed and gestured to lower the weapon.

"The situation has changed since we last met, Mr Malone," he said. "This site is now secured. We can't let anyone in…or out."

Mr Malone looked like arguing for a moment and then gave up. "Oh, all right, then, fine. I knew it was a bad idea coming here anyway."

"Then why'd you come at all?" asked Roscoe.

"Like I said. Got a family to look after." Mr Malone glanced at Roscoe. "Your old man would understand."

"We'll look after you," said Rhys. "But you're staying with us for now. Mr Bottom? Stand your troops down and resume the search."

Bottom saluted reluctantly. "Yes, sir. Marines, with me." He shouldered his rifle and moved off into the shadows, the soldiers trooping after him.

* * *

Morning turned into afternoon and afternoon into evening. A space was cleared on the floor of the cargo hold and a small cooking fire was lit in the middle of it. As the last of the twilight filtered in through the damaged hull, they took it in turns to eat.

"Looks like we might not have had to bother coming," said Roscoe with a sigh.

"Don't even think that," warned Rhys.

"Why not?" asked Sofia.

"Never, ever tempt fate," said Rhys sagely. "That's one of the first things you learn in this job."

"Well, I'm not very good at it," Roscoe grinned. "Although I must say, there are worse ways to spend a night than standing guard over a shipwreck. At least under these circumstances."

"Oh, yes," agreed Rhys. "A good fire and a horizontal place to sleep and a night off from Leamy's cooking."

"Plus no Bodgie," said Roscoe.

"Improper attitude, Mr Chadwick," warned Rhys. Roscoe shrugged and reached into his jacket.

"I've said worse to his face. Anyway, the food isn't the problem, it's the drink."

"We've got enough water," said Rhys. Roscoe produced a small hip flask from his inner pocket and raised an eyebrow. Rhys sighed.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Please tell me that is not rum," said Sofia, eyeing it with some trepidation.

"I could, but I'd be lying." Roscoe winked. "Care for some, S-T?"

Rhys looked at Sofia and decided to refrain for purposes of solidarity.

"Er, no thanks, old sock."

"Suit yourself." Roscoe winked again and poured some into his cup. "How about you, Mr Malone?"

"If there's some going," said Mr Malone. "I'll not say no."

"That's the spirit," said Roscoe, passing the flask.

"Literally," said Rhys.

"If you see Bottom, don't tell him about this," said Roscoe, taking the flask back and stowing it in his jacket.

"Not a word, old bean, not a word." Rhys put a hand over his heart.

* * *

Rhys woke just before dawn and sat up, rubbing his eyes. The small group around the burned-out campfire was still mostly asleep. He pulled on his jacket and shoes and reached for his sword.

"Good morning to you," said Sofia. She was sitting on a chain link nearby.

"How long have you been there?" asked Rhys.

Sofia shrugged. "I am an early riser by nature." She smiled coyly at him and looked down. "And I can see I am not the only one."

Rhys sighed. "That's a signal whistle, Sofia. Get your mind out of the gutter."

She shrugged and smiled again. "Are you always like this in the mornings?"

"Normally I'm much worse." Rhys yawned. "I'm going to do the rounds. Do you fancy coming with me?"

A breeze had picked up as Rhys and Sofia emerged on deck. It was blowing in off the channel, carrying the smells of seaweed, salt and a lingering trace of oil.

"All quiet?" Rhys called across to a group of Marines nearby.

"As the grave, sir," said one. Rhys nodded and began heading aft towards the great white superstructure. That was where the best view would be had.

"I was meaning to ask you," said Sofia, following him. "'Ow long 'ave you been in the Navy?"

"Since I was old enough to join," said Rhys. "Served as a Midshipman on the _Royal St. James_. When my Lieutenancy came through I got transferred to _Larkwind_ and the tender care of Bodgie Brogue."

"Did it ever occur to you to do anything else?"

They reached an open platform on the bridge tower and moved around to the stern. Rhys took the telescope from his belt and scanned the lightening seas.

"Not for a moment. There's a reason we call ourselves the Service."

"Don't you also call yourselves…what is it? The Andrew?" Sofia smiled.

"There's a reason for that, too," said Rhys. "But not a very good one. Roscoe and I both joined because the Navy tends to run in families. But there's more to it. We both want to serve. You'd understand, wouldn't you? I mean, you serve France, don't you?"

"I suppose I do," Sofia sighed. "Although sometimes I wonder who 'France' is. Missions like this one make me wonder sometimes."

She sat down underneath a lifeboat mounting. Rhys sat beside her.

"You don't like your job?"

"I like it fine," said Sofia. She smiled and sat a bit closer to him. "And it 'as its moments. But as you say, it can run in families. It was supposed to be my brother who was trained in the _corps diplomatique_ like my father."

"But he wasn't?" Rhys asked.

Sofia shook her head. "My father was involved in the Algerian affair."

Rhys touched her shoulder. The Algerian colonial rebellion had been well before his time, but he knew enough about it. Enough to know that it had made even the worst of the Troubles seem polite and gentlemanly.

"'E was on the last plane out of Algeria after the war ended," said Sofia. "But it 'ad not quite finished. One last bomb. My father survived but my brother did not. 'is place was offered to me instead."

Rhys shook his head and put his arm around her.

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It 'appens." Sofia shrugged. "There are risks in my profession, as there are in yours."

"At least we're allowed to shoot back," said Rhys.

Sofia smiled. "It was a long time ago anyway. You know they say I could be promoted very soon. An overseas posting too, if I am lucky."

"Maybe I'll be able to visit you there," Rhys joked. The air seemed to chill somewhat as they both considered his words. An unspoken but accepted truth had been voiced.

"You will probably 'ave to," said Sofia quietly. "I suppose this cannot last very long."

"It might last long enough." Rhys held her gently. "It's probably a blessing, really. It's quite unprofessional. You could probably be fired and I'd be court-martialled for improper conduct."

"You 'aven't done anything improper yet," said Sofia, smiling.

"Give me half a minute," said Rhys, smiling back. They looked out over the Channel. The dawn was chasing away the last of the stars. Rhys sat up and pointed.

"See there, in the east? Those sails?"

Sofia looked. A slender ship was approaching under spinnaker, the rising sun making its sails glow.

"It's the _Corposant_," said Rhys. "One of the HM ships sent to reinforce us. She's a good-looking little scow, that one."

"It is beautiful," said Sofia. "I almost envy you, Rhys. Being out on the sea must let you see this every night."

Rhys shrugged. "Sure, but usually on the darkest of dog-watches."

"I did say I _almost_ envied you." Sofia smiled. Rhys laughed.

"And well you might. But still, you see some amazing things in this job. Up in the Orkneys, that trip Duffy was talking about near Papa Westray? We were there just as the solar season was at its height. The night after that storm the skies suddenly cleared and the borealis came out. The Northern Lights. I've never seen anything like it." Rhys smiled at the memory. "Horizon to horizon, the greatest show on earth. It was like looking at fire from underneath. You know some people still believe that if you show them a white handkerchief, the Lights come for you and take you away?"

"Where do they take you?"

Rhys laughed again. "I don't think that's quite the point of the legend, Sofia."

"It does sound beautiful," said Sofia. "Maybe I will be posted to Norway or somewhere I can see them."

Rhys let her rest on his shoulder. "Stranger things have happened, I suppose." He kissed her forehead. Sofia smiled strangely at him.

"And what 'appened to your court-martial, Rhys?"

"I don't see one around here," said Rhys, shrugging. "And with no witnesses, what could they charge me with?"

Sofia sat up slightly and a sly grin crossed her face. "Oh, I do not know," she said innocently. Her hands stroked down Rhys' shoulders and began undoing his tie. "Per'aps…being out of uniform?"

* * *

Midshipman Mayweather yawned and looked out of the bridge windows towards the shore. As a Midshipman, he usually did not stand a watch by himself but with the ship's senior Lieutenants both on shore assignments, _Larkwind_ was seriously short of officers. He went to the rangefinder and adjusted it before checking the pelorus was still in line. Everything was still in order. The young officer walked across the bridge once or twice, imagining what it must be like to command a ship of your own. He glanced out of the window, and saw something near the _Bordeaux_. Something moving through the water, its passage changing the breaking pattern of the waves. He put a telescope to his eye and looked again. There was nothing. The sea was clear. Mayweather frowned and sighed. It was probably just some wreckage drifting back in to shore.

* * *

"Sir? Lieutenant Seddon-Tavish, sir?"

Rhys sat up at Bottom's voice and quickly gestured to Sofia for silence.

"What is it?" he called back, hurriedly doing up his shirt.

"We've got a bit of a problem, sir," Bottom replied. He was standing a deck below, mercifully out of sight. Sofia was buttoning up her coat already.

"What is it?" Rhys looked around and picked up his monkey jacket.

"Rita's gone, sir. She wandered off and we can't find her."

Rhys cursed under his breath. Never work with humans or children, first rule of show business.

"Thank you, Mr Bottom, I'll be right there."

"Thank you, sir." Bottom's rapid footsteps died away. Rhys looked at Sofia and smiled resignedly.

"You were right about our talent for being interrupted," he said.

"It is probably for the best," said Sofia. "This could be serious. Besides," she leaned over and kissed him lightly. "There is always another time."

Rhys smiled. "I hope so. Now if you'll excuse me…" he reached out and took his cap off her head, where she had been wearing it lopsidedly. "I don't want that court-martial just yet."

* * *

Rhys clattered down the stairs into the cargo hold.

"Report," he said crisply.

Bottom looked up and saluted. "Fireteams of three are out looking for her, sir."

"When did she go?"

"About fifteen minutes ago," said Roscoe.

"And you let her?"

"My girl doesn't need babysitting," said Mr Malone defiantly.

"Current evidence suggests otherwise, sir," said Rhys. He buckled his sword on. "Fine. Roscoe? Nigel? You're with me."

"What about me?" said Sofia.

"You stay here with Mr Bottom," said Rhys. "I'm not losing a second person."

"I am going with you," said Sofia firmly. "If Mr Bottom wishes to accompany me, that is fine."

Rhys sighed. "Oh, all right. We don't have time to argue. Let's go."

* * *

They moved through the starboard side of the cargo hold. Damage to the ship's hull and caved in the floor on that side, which sloped down towards the beach. A tear in the hull had opened up, allowing the water into the ship.

"Should we be calling 'er name?" asked Sofia.

Mr Malone shook his head. "Too many echoes in here, miss. Too hard to pick the direction of a voice. We've got to do this the old-fashioned way. This ain't the first time she's got herself lost."

"We'll find her, sir," said Bottom.

Mr Malone looked at him critically. "Maybe so, lad, but I'd appreciate it if you eased up on the firepower there."

Bottom looked down at his rifle and sighed, slinging it over his shoulder.

Roscoe held up a hand. "Quick quiet! I hear something."

They fell silent, listening. There were indeed sounds from up ahead, distinct voices. Rhys motioned them into a crouch and led them forward as quietly as possible. They took cover behind a pile of debris and looked down. The broken floor fell away steeply and the water that had entered the hull had turned the area into a small harbour of sorts. There was a boat there, a bag of fertiliser strapped to the back, but their attention was diverted to the figures standing on the water's edge.

"Rita!" hissed Mr Malone. Roscoe held him back. Rhys put a finger to his lips and looked down. There were eight figures there with Rita. Six were rats and one of them was holding her. Two were green-skinned amphibians.

"She's not saying anyfing, boss," said the rat holding Rita. She was sullenly glaring at her captors.

"Shan't," she said bluntly.

"Please can I make her talk, dad?" It was one of the other rats, a scrawny little boy probably about Rita's age. His black hair was drawn up as if he had received a violent shock.

"Now, now, Spike, lad, what have I told you about that sort of fing?" said the first rat.

"Aow, come on, dad! I won't 'urt 'er, dad!" The one identified as Spike narrowed his eyes maliciously. "Much."

"Don't even think about it, you runty little reject!" Rita kicked him hard as he came too close. Spike's father smacked her over the head.

"Watch your language, missy," he warned. He glanced up to see his son prostrate on the floor, moaning.

"He's better like that," he mused.

"I told you, cousin, it is useless to interrogate these rodents," said one of the amphibians. He was a small, athletic figure in a trenchcoat with a heavy French accent.

"What would you know about it?" snarled the larger one. "You did a fine job running this ship aground, Le Frog, but you know nothing about the greater agenda!"

"That must be the Toad," whispered Roscoe. "Nelson protect us, he's here!"

"What shall we do?" asked Sofia.

"We save her and arrest him," said Rhys. "But we need more to do it. Mr Bottom? Go and find some reinforcements."

"Yes, sir." Bottom passed Roscoe his rifle and ducked off. Rhys looked back down at the group by the harbour. The Toad appeared to have lost his patience.

"Do we have enough on board?" he demanded.

"Yes, boss," said Spike Senior. "Counted 'em myself."

"I didn't know you could count, dad," said the smaller Spike, who was still rubbing his backside where he had fallen after Rita's kick.

"Then bring her," said the Toad, gesturing to Rita. The one referred to as Le Frog sighed theatrically.

"Why do you always create problems for yourself, my short-sighted cousin? Just kill the rodent now and save time later."

Mr Malone bared his teeth. "I'll have that one," he muttered.

Rhys watched with mounting concern. "We're going to have to go now," he said. "We can't wait. Roscoe, are you ready?"

Roscoe took the safety catch off Bottom's rifle. "Ready when you are, old chap."

Rhys drew his sword quietly. "On my command, then. Sofia, you stay here."

She nodded, her face pale and tense. Rhys looked down again. The Spikes were pushing Rita towards the boat.

"Now!"

He stood up, sword in hand, and leapt down the face of the incline. Mr Malone followed close behind. The figures below froze at the shout and looked up.

"More rodents?" snarled the Toad. "Get them!"

Roscoe stood and fired. The ball bearing flew straight and true, hitting one of the rats and pitching him into the water. Rhys and Mr Malone reached them and laid in, Mr Malone swinging a length of wood that left Spike Senior stretched out on the floor. He grabbed his daughter's hand.

"Come on, girl! Don't hang around!"

Rhys ducked a blow from one of the other henchrats and knocked his attacker down with the hilt of his sword.

"Good! Fall back!"

They began retreating up the slope.

"Grab them, you fools!" shouted the Toad. The last henchrats began advancing menacingly.

"Marines! Take aim!"

Rhys looked behind him. Bottom had returned with eight of his soldiers. The Royal Marines levelled their rifles and opened fire, the ball bearings hissing through the air around Rhys and the Malones. A chorus of curses from behind them indicated that some at least had found their targets.

"Come back, you cowards!" The Toad started forwards, but was restrained by the French frog.

"Forget them, cousin! We don't 'ave time for this! We must go!"

"Marines!" called Roscoe. "Fix bayonets and prepare to advance!"

There was a whisper of steel as bayonets were drawn. The Toad finally decided that discretion was the better part of valour and leapt onto the boat, leaving his battered henchrats behind.

"This isn't over, rats!" he bellowed, gunning the engines.

"Hey, wait for me!" Le Frogjumped, and just grabbed hold of the Toad's departing stern. He was dragged through the water, spluttering, as the boat roared out of the ship.

Roscoe reached down and helped Rhys up.

"Good show, old chap! Textbook!"

Rhys nodded. "It's not over yet, Roscoe. It sounded like they've got enough poison already. We've got get a signal to _Larkwind_. The _Toad Hall_ must be around here somewhere and they've got to stop it getting away."

Sofia hugged him with relief, but Rhys was already moving. "We've got to get back to the Aldis," he said. "Come on, Roscoe. Mr Bottom, you stay here and make sure there aren't any more of the Toad's chaps on board."

"Yes, sir!" Bottom took his rifle back from Roscoe and reloaded it.

"Mr Rhys?" Mr Malone held out a hand. "I want to thank you."

"No thanks necessary," said Rhys briskly. "Maybe one day Rita will get the chance to save me."

Rhys glanced at Sofia. "You should stay as well," he said.

"I am going with you," said Sofia. "I am not letting you out of my sight."

"Chaps and chapess? This week?" Roscoe waved his hands.

Rhys nodded and followed him. It was now a race against time.


	6. Hearts of Oak

Roscoe jumped onto the sands, rolling after the landing. Rhys followed and helped Sofia down.

"Marines! Prepare the light!" he shouted.

The two Marines guarding the beacon began fussing over it.

"Are you sure that wiring is still safe?" said Roscoe. "You had trouble with it before, didn't you, S-T?"

"It still worked," said Rhys. "And it isn't as if we need to send a very complicated signal."

One of the Marine touched the wires together. There was a shower of sparks.

"Drop it!" ordered Rhys. "Drop it and get away!"

Roscoe pulled the soldier back and the wires dropped onto the sand. The copper had fused, shorting the circuit. The flashbulb didn't even glow. Rhys swore.

"Damn it all! Now what?"

"We've got the launch," said Roscoe. "Besides, if there's a fight in the offing, I don't want to miss it. And _Lucky Larky_ will probably need her gunner and pilot back."

Rhys hissed between his teeth. "All right. You two, lay a hand with getting the launch back into the water!"

The Marines helped them ease the boat backwards. Roscoe stood at the controls and fired the engine as it slipped free of the sand and drifted into the shallows. Rhys waded after it and was pulled aboard by Roscoe. Sofia followed.

"Are you sure you should be here?" said Roscoe.

"I would feel safer on _Larkwind_ than on the shore, Mr Chadwick," said Sofia as she came on board. "Besides-"

"I know. You're not letting Rhys out of your sight. Fine. Let's go, then." Roscoe turned the launch out to sea and gunned the engine. They shot forward, the bow kicking up a foul-smelling spray. The oil slick had returned with the tide.

* * *

Mayweather turned from the pelorus as he heard Aldo approach behind him. 

"Watch concluded, sir," he said, saluting. "Nothing to report."

"No word from the shore party?" said Aldo.

"No, sir. A message confirming their safe arrival but nothing since."

Aldo nodded. "Well, I suppose no news could be construed as good news."

"I hope so, sir."

"Very good, then. You may stand relieved, Mr Mayweather. Go and get some breakfast." Aldo turned to the window and paused.

"Belay that!"

He picked up a telescope and put it to his eye. "What do you make of this, Mr Mayweather?"

Mayweather joined him and squinted though the lens of the rangefinder. "It looks like the launch is coming back, sir."

"Why would they do that?" Aldo panned the telescope around. "They must have a problem with the Aldis lamp. Which must mean they have something urgent to report."

"What, sir?" Mayweather looked up from the rangefinder.

Aldo stopped and was silent for a moment.

"Mr Mayweather. Train the rangefinder on bearing three-one-five and tell me what you see."

Mayweather obeyed. Through the scope's magnification he could see a boat moving away from the _Bordeaux_. From its size he guessed it was made from an old iron water tank. Two great paddle wheels churned the water on its sides and what looked like a sawn-off shotgun was fixed to its bows. Its broad decks were laden down with sacks and inky smoke spewed from its tall funnel. In the wheelhouse he could see several shadowy figures, one of them towering over the others and gesticulating wildly. On either side of its bows were brass plates bearing a name.

"It's the _Toad Hall_, sir!" said Mayweather.

"Indeed it is," said Aldo grimly. "Go and tell the Captain."

Mayweather nodded, his face pale, and darted off. Aldo glared through the telescope.

"How did you get past us?" he muttered.

Brogue stormed onto the bridge.

"How did they get past us, Mr Thiele?" he demanded.

Mayweather saluted hesitantly. "Er, probably my fault, sir. I thought I saw something on watch, but I couldn't confirm it."

"You saw something and didn't report it?" Brogue rounded on the young rat, who quailed.

"I didn't know what it was, sir! I'm sorry!"

"Doesn't matter now," Brogue stomped to the rail and took Aldo's telescope.

"Orders, sir?" said Aldo.

Brogue grunted. "Looks like they've loaded enough poison to gas half of Kent. We've no choice but to stop them. Mr Thiele? Sound action stations."

"Action stations, aye, sir!" Aldo moved to a control panel at the back of a bridge. He opened it and pressed a red button. _Larkwind_'s klaxon wailed, a piercing note that resounded across the water and echoed off the cliffs. Aldo unhooked the microphone.

"Action stations, action stations! All hands report to action stations! This is not a drill, I repeat this is not a drill."

Brogue turned to Mayweather. "That means you as well, Midshipman."

"Sir? But Lieutenant Seddon-Tavish isn't back yet!" Mayweather stared.

"In his absence, you are the ranking gunnery officer, Mr Mayweather, Nelson save us! Get to your post!"

Mayweather swallowed, his throat dry. He saluted. "Aye…aye, sir!" He left the bridge as the crew began piling out of hatches to their stations and clambered down onto the foredeck. The gun crew had already hauled the Webley up and were erecting the shield around it. Corporal Green was in command and he saluted Mayweather.

"You'll be leading us in battle, sir?" he said, grinning.

"It would appear so, Mr Green," said Mayweather, trying not to let his voice betray his fear.

"You and Jack Cornwall," said Green. "Very good, sir. Come on, you blokes, move like you mean it!" he added to the crew. Bullets were brought up from below deck and rammed one by one into the loading cylinder, which clicked neatly into place for the first time in living memory.

"Hope that's a good omen, sir," said Green, surprised. Mayweather nodded and turned to the bridge to wave.

"Gun reports ready, sir," said Aldo. Brogue nodded.

"Signal _Corposant_ to take up position on our port quarter."

"Sir? The target's changed course!"

The spotter rating at the rangefinder pointed. The _Toad Hall_ had turned to starboard and was fast bearing down on the little launch as it scurried towards them.

* * *

"I think we got their attention!" shouted Roscoe, over the noise of the engines. Rhys looked and saw the _Toad Hall_ coming about. 

"I think you're right, old chap!"

"Are they going to shoot at us?" asked Sofia, nervously.

"Probably!" said Roscoe, happily. "But never mind! Remember 'Jackie' Fisher's dictum- speed is armour!"

"That was what he said about the battlecruisers!" explained Rhys. "Mind you, that was before three of them got blown to pieces at Jutland."

"You are not making me feel better," said Sofia. She watched the Toad's ship settle onto its new heading.

"Look on the bright side," said Roscoe. "Ain't no way does the Toad count as Admiral Scheer."

"Does that mean that old Bodgie is Jellicoe?" said Rhys, smiling.

"Yes, and I'm going to be Admiral Beatty!" Roscoe laughed.

The _Toad Hall_ fired both barrels from the bow-mounted shotgun. The water ahead of the launch exploded with spray as the pellets slashed into it. Roscoe dodged it expertly.

"But there's nothing wrong with our bloody ships today, eh, chaps?" he called.

"Less quoting, more boating, please," said Rhys. "I know it missed, but that really was rather close." He grabbed onto the rail for stability and saw the _Toad Hall_'s crew reloading the shotgun, ejecting the spent cartridges overboard and ramming new ones into the breeches.

* * *

"Come to port two-seven degrees," said Brogue. "Accelerate to combat speed." 

"Port two-seven, combat speed, aye!" The helmsman turned the polished wooden wheel and _Larkwind_ swung around, now on a course to cut across _Toad Hall_ before she could run down the racing launch. Brogue put on his tin hat, the last on the bridge to do so, strapping it down firmly over his uniform cap.

"Prepare to engage target."

"Target in range, sir," said Aldo.

Brogue nodded. "Then proceed. Fire as you bear."

Aldo waved down to Mayweather, who swallowed nervously again and turned to his gun crew.

"Er, all right, chaps. Here we go. Fire one!"

"Fire one!" Green yanked hard on the lanyard around the Webley's trigger. The ancient pistol went off with a distinctive _crack_, and water fountained up near the _Toad Hall_.

"Too low," Mayweather shook his head. "Raise two degrees of elevation."

"Two, aye!" The crew lifted the Webley slightly. Mayweather peered through a slit in the gun shield.

"Fire two!"

This time the shot told. Mayweather felt his heart swell with pride- a direct hit from his second shot! Rhys would have been proud. The bullet sparked off the iron hull of the _Toad Hall_, but it had certainly got _Larkwind_ noticed.

* * *

"Hahaha, good shooting!" Roscoe was exultant. "Did you see that, Rhys? Second shot! Top hole!" 

"I must be a better teacher than I thought," Rhys grinned. The _Toad Hall_ was now turning to face _Larkwind_, its paddles thrashing the water, but it had time for one last shot. The shotgun barked and the water around the launch exploded. The bow was thrown out of the water and flipped them around in mid-air, Roscoe crying out as the steering column was driven into his chest.

"Sofia!" Rhys grabbed for her hand, but it was too late. The water rushed up to meet them and they went under. Rhys just had time to breathe in before the water enveloped him.

* * *

Brogue watched the launch sink and anger boiled up inside him. 

"Close the range!" he snapped. "Come right seven!"

"Right seven it is, sir!"

"And prepare the Hedgehog to fire," Brogue went on. "I'm going to make those bastards regret that."

"The Hedgehog, sir?" Aldo frowned. The Hedgehog was an antisubmarine weapon.

"The Hedgehog, Mr Thiele, or you can consider yourself relieved!"

Aldo saluted. "Yes, sir!"

Brogue turned back to the battle. _Toad Hall_ was bearing down on them from right ahead. Both ships accelerated, the smoke now pouring densely from the enemy funnel. Sparks and cinders gusted out with it and settled down across the oily sea. Brogue saw a cluster of red-hot ashes drift down towards a patch of oil and he breathed out.

"God save the Queen," he muttered. "Because He can't save us now."

The oil ignited with a _whoomph_, the flames spreading greedily over the polluted surface.

* * *

Rhys looked up in horror as the sea directly above them caught fire, the flames consuming the floating wreckage of the launch. He floundered about underwater and found Sofia's hand. Her grip was strong and he took comfort in that. He looked around and saw Roscoe nearby. Rhys smiled encouragingly, an expression which soon dropped from his face. Roscoe was holding his stomach and shaking his head sadly. The steering column from the launch had knocked the air out of him and he hadn't been able to breathe in before going under. 

_Roscoe?_ Rhys stared as Roscoe looked up. His friend's eyes held no anger, no pain and no fear. Just a calm resignation. Roscoe brought a hand up in a last salute.

_Roscoe! No!_

But it was too late. Roscoe opened his mouth, releasing a cloud of bubbles towards the burning surface. By the time they had cleared, he was gone, a dark shape drifting away on the current. Rhys kept staring, trying to comprehend that he had just watched him die and refusing to accept it.

Not that it mattered much. His own lungs were already bursting. Sofia's eyes were also closed, although her grip on his hand remained tight as her hair floated weightlessly around her head. Rhys looked up at the burning oil which lit the nightmare like a skyful of suns. No, wait, that wasn't it…flames from below. He was looking at flames from below. It was like the Aurora Borealis, the greatest show on earth…and although he had no white handkerchief to show them, these lights _would_ take him away. Rhys closed his eyes and concentrated on Sofia's touch.

That was why he didn't see the shape powering shark-like through the water towards them, propeller churning the water behind the sleek, blunt-nosed pressure hull.

* * *

The oil fires were throwing up noxious columns of black smoke. Brogue pressed on through them, eyes narrowed and staring. 

"We've lost them, sir," said Aldo. "No visual contact."

"They were right out there," murmured Brogue. "Right ahead of us. Signal _Corposant_ to back off to safe distance and hold a perimeter."

Aldo nodded. In fact the sail-driven _Corposant_ had already retreated as soon as the fires started, unable to risk its canvas sails amid the towers of flame. _Larkwind_ was on her own.

"Come on, come on…" Brogue said, his hands gripping the rail. "Show yourselves!"

As if in answer, the _Toad Hall_ loomed up out of the red and black haze. It fired, a cloud of duckshot lashing the _Larkwind_. Bridge windows shattered and Aldo went down as a pellet rebounded off his helmet. The pelorus and rangefinder exploded. Brogue knelt as glass fell around him and crawled over to his first officer, who was lying still and quiet, blood trickling from somewhere under his tin hat.

"Hedgehog! Fire!" he screamed, just hoping that someone was still able to follow his orders.

The same blizzard of shot blasted the foredeck, pinging off the gun shield like heavy hail. Corporal Green fell, blood arcing from the side of his head where a pellet had taken off his left ear.

"Mr Green!" Mayweather hauled the Corporal into cover. "We've got to get you to the PMO!"

"No bloody time!" Green snarled with pain. "I'll be right, sir! I'll get the bastards back for that!"

He stripped off his khaki jacket and strapped it to the side of his head with his belt. Mayweather nodded and then ducked as the Hedgehog went off behind him. The mortars fired, sending the bombs curving overhead towards the _Toad Hall_. They landed across its decks, puncturing laden bags and spilling poison and fertiliser into the sea. Four of the bombs hit the _Toad Hall_'s starboard paddle wheel, shattering it. Mayweather grabbed the Webley lanyard and fired twice at the enemy before they swept past it too fast to turn the turret.

* * *

Rhys woke up with someone punching him in the chest. 

"Lay off, you bastard," he groaned. He rolled onto his hands and knees and threw up a lungful of water before realising that he wasn't dead yet. He looked around. He was in a small room with curved walls and ceiling. Sofia was in a corner, being held up by two wetsuit-clad rats. A third had been trying to resuscitate Rhys.

"What happened? Where are we?" he stared around.

"You are on the _Loire_," said his rescuer in a French accent. "And you are lucky to be alive."

"Alive? Yes…" Rhys shook his head and then looked up. "Oh, God…Roscoe!" He shot to his feet and pushed the French sailor aside.

"Rhys, no!" Sofia tried to follow. Rhys hauled open a watertight door and found himself in the submarine's control room. Captain Louis Bruno looked up from his periscope.

"I am glad to see you not dead, Mr Lieutenant," he said. "Now if you will excuse me, I 'ave a battle to win."

"You've got to go back!" Rhys tried to get to Bruno, but Sofia put a gentle hand on his shoulder, holding him back. "We left someone behind!"

"My divers found nobody," said Bruno. "I am sorry."

"But-" Rhys started forwards again and subsided. "Roscoe…" he finished.

"I am so very sorry," Sofia put her arms around him, although there were tears in her eyes as well. "So very sorry."

"Enemy directly ahead, sir!" called one of _Loire_'s crew. Bruno nodded with satisfaction and lowered the periscope.

"Prepare to attack! Pressurise ballast for rapid evacuation!" He glanced at Rhys and Sofia. "I suggest you two 'old on to something. This is going to be rough."

"How many torpedoes have you got?" asked Rhys.

Bruno laughed. "This submarine _is_ a torpedo, Mr Lieutenant! It does not carry them!"

"So how the hell do you plan on attacking them?" Rhys demanded. Bruno grinned nastily.

"With a torpedo, Mr Lieutenant. Navigator, set course! Ramming speed!"

* * *

Aldo was sitting upright, propped against the pelorus, a white bandage around his head. Brogue was at the wheel himself, bringing _Larkwind_ around for a second pass. The first one had been gratifyingly effective, but Hedgehog was a one-shot weapon and Brogue, in his heart of hearts, knew that the Webley couldn't even dent the _Toad Hall_'s iron hull. And that meant that they were going to lose. 

"Enemy sighted, sir!" called out a rating. Brogue followed the rat's finger and saw his quarry emerging from behind a pillar of fire.

"Got you," he whispered.

Mayweather watched the crew reload the Webley and looked through the shield.

"Here we go again, chaps. Ready? Fire!"

The gun fired, the crew working mechanically. Pulling back the trigger, releasing, pulling it back and releasing. Six shots in as many seconds. Mayweather strained to see if they did anything, but there was little sign of it and the _Toad Hall _stood on relentlessly. Its single paddlewheel spinning, it turned remarkably quickly, firing a barrel from its shotgun. The hail of shot clattered off _Larkwind_'s hull, pitting and denting it. Brogue glared as the Toad settled his ship into position. Mayweather's crew were racing to reload the Webley, and there was nothing that could be done. For a moment, Brogue swore that he was looking right down the loaded barrel of the _Toad Hall_'s gun.

And then it happened.

Something broke the smoking water off the _Toad Hall_'s port side and rose like a Polaris missile before crashing down. The long, blunt-nosed object crashed down across the decks of the ship, breaking _Toad Hall's_ back like a twig before reentering the sea, its sleek hull throwing up twin walls of water like the white wings of an avenging angel.

"Well, damn it all…" breathed Brogue. "That froggy submarine came in handy after all!"

* * *

The sun was setting on the day. The fires had long since gone out and a freshening breeze from the Bay of Biscay had swept the smoke northwards. Rhys sat on a spent casing by the Webley, his head resting on his hands. 

"The Malones have gone," said a voice. Captain Brogue came up behind him.

"Good, sir."

"Took their funny little boat and left. _Jammy Dodger_. Odd sort of moniker."

"Takes all sorts, sir."

"It does." Brogue looked down at Rhys. "A hell of a day, Lieutenant."

Rhys looked across the water to the _Bordeaux_. "Yes, sir. It certainly was."

"Saved by the French Navy." Brogue shook his head. "I'll never live it down."

He looked at Rhys and saw a familiar faraway look in the young officer's eyes. Brogue pulled over a casing of his own and sat on it.

"You doing all right, son?"

"I will be, sir," said Rhys.

"Young Mayweather did good today," said Brogue. "You should be proud. If you've taught him half of what you know, he'll make a fine gunner."

"Thank you, sir. I am." Rhys looked down at his hands.

"They found him, you know," Brogue said after a while. "The _Corposant _sent out search parties. He'd drifted half a mile along the beach by the time they recovered him."

"Yes, sir. At least there'll be something to bury." Rhys' voice was flat and dead.

Brogue put a hand on Rhys' shoulder and lowered his voice. "I've been serving the Crown since before you were born, lad. I've seen lots of good chaps come and go."

Rhys nodded sadly. "And does it ever get easier, sir?"

Brogue sighed. "No…no, it doesn't, lieutenant. And nor should it."

He stood. Rhys looked up as Brogue went on.

"If it ever does get easier, if it ever stops hurting, it's because you've stopped caring. And if you ever stop caring about your shipmates, Rhys, you don't deserve to serve with them."

Rhys nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Brogue patted his shoulder and walked away. Rhys looked out across the water one last time and made his way below decks. Sofia found him standing at the door to his cabin.

"Rhys?"

He gave her a smile which came nowhere near his eyes. "Hello, Sofia."

"Are you all right?" She moved closer to him and took his hand. He sighed.

"I've been excused watch duties. Of course I am."

"A message came from Paris," said Sofia quietly after a moment. "It was relayed by the _Loire_. I 'ave been promoted to the consular service. It means a foreign posting."

"Whereabouts?"

"I am being sent to Monaco," said Sofia. "Rhys?"

He smiled bitterly. "It's not my lucky day is it?" He paused and ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Roscoe dies, you get promoted and I feel sorry for my own damn self. I should be happy for you. And I am."

He took her other hand in his. Sofia sighed and rested her head against his chest.

"We both knew it 'ad to come to an end," she said. "We both knew it was only ever a daydream. That we would be parted by our jobs."

"I know." Rhys closed his eyes and stroked her hair. "I just wish…I just wish we had a little longer, that's all."

"I will write to you," Sofia promised. "As often as I can."

"I'll try to keep in touch," said Rhys. "But I'll miss you all the same."

Sofia looked up at his face. "Are you going to sleep?" she asked.

Rhys nodded and looked at the door. "If I can. I just don't know. This is Roscoe's room. I just don't know if I can…go in there and see that empty bunk." He lowered his head and took a deep breath. "I just don't know."

Sofia put a tender hand to his cheek. "You could stay with me tonight."

Rhys looked her in the eye. "Sofia?"

"We still 'ave some time left together," she said. "I do not mean…anything, that anything should 'appen. But there is just tonight, and I would like to spend it with you."

Rhys held her hand. "Thank you. I think I will."

They kissed for a long moment and then walked, slowly, hand-in-hand, down the corridor.

* * *

Rhys was sitting on a bollard on the Gosport seafront looking out over the docks. _Larkwind_ was tied up nearby, work gangs swarming over it, hammering out dents in the hull, retying severed lines and replacing the bridge windows under the supervision of Aldo Thiele whose head still sported a white bandage. But Rhys wasn't watching that. His eyes were unfocused, staring into the middle distance. He didn't know himself what he was seeing- the funeral, the dignified grieving and Bottom's Marines firing the salute or the _Loire_ casting loose and turning east to France, sailing away into the morning sun until he lost sight of it- and of her, forever. 

"Sir?"

He was happy for her, of course. Who wouldn't be for someone who just got promoted? Assistant Deputy Consul to Monaco was a heady position for someone her age, after all.

"Mr Seddon-Tavish? Sir?"

He roused himself from the reverie and stood up. A sub-lieutenant was standing behind him, a questioning look on his face.

"Yes?"

The sub-lieutenant cleared his throat. "Admiral Rupert's compliments, sir. He wants to see you in his office."

"What, the Admiral wants to see me?" Rhys sighed. "Very well."

He buttoned his frock coat and followed the young officer across the docks. Rear-Admiral Sir Hale Rupert was the Portsmouth Harbour commander and one of the highest-ranked officers in the Service. When he called for you, you went. The sailor held open a set of oak doors, allowing Rhys into a small waiting room. Its walls were made of salvaged postcards showing heroic naval scenes. Once they might have entranced Rhys, but he barely looked at them.

"He'll be ready for you in a moment, sir," said the sub-lieutenant, sitting behind a reception desk. Rhys nodded. The inner office doors opened and two figures came out, dressed in funeral black. Molly and Lachlan Chadwick gave Rhys cursory nods as they left the building. They gave no indication that they had even recognised him, and Rhys was wretchedly relieved.

"Sir?"

Rhys sighed and marched into Rupert's office, which was far more sparsely decorated. He snapped to attention in front of the big desk and saluted.

"Lieutenant Seddon-Tavish reporting as ordered, sir!"

"Thank you, Mr Seddon-Tavish, you may stand at ease." Rupert was a large elderly rat whose quiet Welsh voice belied his size, which was said to have rendered him unfit for submarine service on account of being unable to fit through the hatches. Brogue was standing behind the Admiral, looking distinctly awkward in a new dress uniform.

"Captain Brogue has completed his report of the action," Rupert went on, putting aside a piece of paper. "And I believe I owe you my congratulations and condolences in equal measure."

"Thank you, sir," said Rhys, surprised.

"A nasty business," Rupert said, standing up. "But fortunately one well-concluded."

"Did they ever catch the Toad, sir?" asked Rhys.

Rupert shook his head. "_Corposant_ salvaged most of the _Toad Hall_, arrested the crew and secured its cargo, but there was not an amphibian in sight. Not that it matters. It'll be a long time before the old green rotter can try anything again even if he is still alive."

"Yes, sir."

"Which brings us back to you, Lieutenant," said Rupert. "Captain Brogue has commended your conduct throughout the whole…experience, but we both feel that perhaps it is time your career took a different path."

"Sir?" Rhys looked from Rupert to Brogue. Brogue was wearing a very slight grin.

"Sea service is not for us all, my good chap," said Rupert, adjusting his straining belt judiciously, "and we feel that you might benefit from…some time off the old oggin."

"Time off, sir? I'm sorry, sir, but-" Rhys protested. For junior officers, a desk was much like a coffin- four wooden sides and something you were buried in. An ambitious young officer was well-advised to avoid them wherever possible.

"We have decided," Rupert said, cutting him off. "To second you to the Foreign Office. A posting has opened up in one of our embassies for a junior diplomatic officer. We feel that you would fit the bill. Deputy Naval Attache. How does that sound?"

_Like a long, slow death, sir_, thought Rhys. But he didn't say it.

"Which embassy, sir?"

"The Principality of Monaco, Mr Seddon-Tavish," said Rupert. "I'm sorry, did I say something funny?"

Rhys fought to wipe the sudden smile off his face. "No, sir. Sorry, sir." He looked at Brogue and saw that the Captain was smiling. He winked at Rhys.

"The position would entail a promotion," Rupert sat down again. "Can't be having mere lieutenants representing the Crown, after all, even in Monaco."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you very much." Rhys felt his heart lift, something it hadn't done in the days since the _Bordeaux_ incident.

"You earned it," said Brogue. He shook his hand. "Congratulations, Rhys."

"That's Lieutenant-Commander Seddon-Tavish," corrected Rupert. "You've got something of a monopoly on hyphenations, there, old chap."

"Yes, sir." Rhys was grinning widely now. He collected himself and stood to attention again.

Rupert looked up and smiled. "Until you receive posting orders, you are to consider yourself on leave. When those orders arrive you'll know what to do. And you'll need to present yourselves at Gieves for a new uniform."

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. Dismissed, Lieutenant-Commander. And congratulations again."

Rhys saluted and left, trying not to run. He stepped onto the harbour and breathed in the sea air. Then he turned and walked off down the quay, and the ratings who passed him were surprised to hear him singing _Fly Me To The Moon_ under his breath, a smile on his face.

_The End_


End file.
